


Sacrificial Son

by SHTWSPNSH



Series: Sacrificial Son [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Non-Consensual Touching, Rusalka (Water Spirit), Sick Dean Winchester, Weechester Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHTWSPNSH/pseuds/SHTWSPNSH
Summary: Dean tries to break the news to his father that Sammy isn't interested in carrying on the family business. John handles it like an ex-Marine would, and Dean storms off to the shores to cool down after the heated debate. There, he is entranced by a water succubus. Will his father realize what happened before it's too late?Tag to "After School Special." Dean is 17 and Sam is 13.This fic goes back to January of 2010!  I'm updating it as I go and will continue to post at least once a week until the whole story is up.  And if enough people are interested in more, I will post the sequel here as well!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Sacrificial Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008513
Comments: 23
Kudos: 45





	1. Here Goes Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the latest SPN ep, my Destiel heart is in tatters haha Had to revisit some old stories, so figured I'd finally start moving some more from Fanfic.net over here to AO3 if anyone is interested! Here goes nothing...

Dean was in his element, happily cruising along in the Impala and rocking out to a little Led Zepp. His father didn't let him drive very often, but when he did, it was clear from John’s proud smirk that he knew how much those rare occasions meant to his eldest son.

As long as he could prove that he’d take good care of her, Dean had a feeling he would be inheriting her for his eighteenth birthday present.

The car was home for him, and with the bass beat loud enough to rattle the windows and his little brother contentedly riding shotgun, Dean settled in and let the recent events from Truman High School fade into background noise.

What did that chick know anyway? Dean was a hero. He wouldn't trade his lifestyle for the world. He sure as hell didn't need Amanda's pity.

The Winchester boys were following behind John's new truck. They were headed out of Fairfax, Indiana, _finally_ , and as far as Dean was concerned, the further they went from that crap town, the better.

The plan was to meet up with Bobby a few states over so they could team up on the next hunt. It was going to be Sam's first real experience hunting. He had attended a few gigs before, but for the most part, all he had done was train and observe.

This was going to be Sam's chance to prove himself a competent hunter like his father and big brother. The only problem was Sam didn't _want_ to hunt.

The elder Winchester glanced over at his little brother who was staring out the passenger side window, apparently lost in thought. Dean turned the volume on the radio down enough to be heard over it.

"Hey, Sammy?" Sam didn't acknowledge him, so Dean tried again. “Sam? Earth to Super Geek… DUDE!"

"Huh?" Sam was startled out of his reverie and shot his brother a confused look.

"Welcome back, Cadet. What, were you visiting the set of _Lost in Space_ or somethin'?"

"No. Just thinkin'."

"'Bout what?"

"Stuff." Sam turned back to his window, attempting to end the conversation before it even began.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "Funny, when I say shit like that, I get your patented bitch face. Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," Sam sighed.

Dean stared at the back of his brother's head for a few seconds before deciding he wasn't going to let it go that easily. Sam was clearly hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was.

Plus, they had a long ride ahead of them and Dean got bored pretty easily. Harassing Sam was one of his favorite perks.

"Come on, Sammy. What is it? You worried about the hunt tomorrow?"

"No. Haven't really thought about it actually."

"Then what? You can't seriously be missin' that shithole of a school after what happened to you there."

"It wasn't all that bad."

Dean shot him the most incredulous look he could muster.

"Dude, what kind of ganja are you smokin'? Name one thing that made that place worth remembering."

"…The teachers were nice."

Dean snorted. "Nice _lookin'_ maybe."

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something in secret?"

"Of course, man. Who the hell would I tell?"

Sam had to concede the point. There was only one person who Sam wanted kept in the dark, and once Dean heard what he had to say, he'd most likely agree with Sam on keeping it quiet.

Still, he hesitated until he felt his brother’s stare boring a hole into the side of his head as Sam kept his own eyes downcast, locked onto his lap.

"I don't know if I want to be a hunter," he muttered, nervously playing with his fingers.

Dean was silent for a moment, then-

"…This week?"

"At all."

"What else would you be?"

"I dunno. Maybe a lawyer?"

Dean gave him a disbelieving look. "You're serious?"

"Yeah, I am. I think I want to go to college. I don't want to be part of the family business anymore."

Dean shut the radio off completely. "Where's this comin' from, Sammy?"

"My eyes are open now, Dean. There's a lot more to life than vendettas and hunting down everything that goes bump in the night. I can still make a difference without picking up a gun. I just… I want a chance at a normal life."

Dean was shaking his head long before Sam finished.

"Oh, dad is gonna _love_ this..."

"You can't tell him, Dean!" Sam’s head shot up frantically, afraid he had made a serious mistake in confiding in his brother. But he should have known better than to accuse the older boy of betraying his trust.

"Do I _look_ suicidal to you? But what’s your master plan here, huh? Keep going along with the hunts until you graduate high school and then just disappear on us without a word?”

“No, of course not.”

“Alright then. So when exactly is he allowed to know?”

“I dunno, okay? When I figure out how best to explain it without him shooting me down before I can get the words out.”

“So… Basically never?”

Sam thunked his head back against the seat. “Pretty much.”

“Sammy, this is Dad we’re talkin’ about. How long do you think you can keep this from him before he starts getting suspicious and grills it outta you?”

“I get it, Dean. He needs to know, sooner rather than later. But he’s going to hate me when I tell him,” Sam mumbled dejectedly, going back to staring out his window at the empty landscape.

Dean reached over and gave his brother’s knee a comforting pat.

“Hey. Don't worry about that, Sammy. If you're truly set on this, then I’ll handle Dad. I’m not gonna wait months though. The sooner we rip off that bandaid, the more time he’ll have to come to terms with it before you… You know. Ditch. I’ll talk to him tonight, first chance I get."

Sam glanced over at Dean with a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

"Hell no. I think it’s a truly terrible idea. But there’s never gonna be a right time for this conversation, and it has to be handled delicately or it's gonna get fugly fast."

"Yeah, I _know_." Sam slumped in his seat, deflating as the hope disappeared as quickly as it had come. “All he cares about is his stupid revenge. What we want doesn’t matter.”

Dean sighed. They’d been over this many times before.

"It's not that he doesn't care, Sammy. He _does_. But his priority is keepin' us safe. He's not gonna like the idea of you wantin' to strike out on your own, unprotected."

"Well it's gonna happen, whether he likes it or not. I’ve already started compiling a list of potential schools that I want to apply to."

Dean did his best to keep the hurt off his face.

“I guess it’s settled then.”

Silence fell over the car for a bit as both boys let their minds wander. One thing was still bugging Dean though, so he broke the silence first.

"Hey, Sammy… How come you never told me you didn't want to hunt?"

Sam shrugged.

“I guess I never considered there were other options till recently. It's always been ‘ _whatever dad says, goes’_. But I don't want to be a freak anymore, Dean."

"I've got news for ya, Sammy. You've always been a freak. But you know what? I'm right there with ya. Always have been, and always will be."

Sam smiled sadly, feeling the relief from Dean's reassurance. "Yeah, I know you are. Thanks, Dean."

"Mhm. Chick flick moment over now? Good."

Dean turned the radio back on and boosted the volume again before his brother could respond. He pretended to be focused on the song, tapping out the drum solo on the steering wheel, when he was actually lost in his own thoughts.

_How the hell am I gonna break this to dad?_

With multiple arguments and scenarios flooding through Dean's head, the drive took a surprisingly short amount of time.

He and Sam waited in the car while their father checked them into the shitty motel of the week and then they both drove around the building and parked in front of their latest temporary abode.

Bobby was scheduled to arrive within the next hour or so and he'd probably rent out the room next door if it was available. Until then, Dean had a lot of processing and planning to do.

"Let's go, boys. Grab the bags and bring 'em in," John instructed as he grabbed his own duffle from the back of his truck and made his way to their door.

His sons automatically obeyed, Dean practically marching into the room and Sam silently sulking as he lagged behind.

Two beds. That meant dad got one and the boys would be sharing again, not that that was anything new. Still, Dean automatically went for the side closest to the door and dropped his bag to the floor.

"Dean, keys," John commanded, hand outstretched.

Dean reluctantly tossed the Impala's keys to his father who pocketed them. It was fun to pretend for a while that the car was his, even if it didn't last.

_Someday, baby…_

"Alright. Let's go over the plan again till Bobby gets here."

The three Winchesters gathered around the small kitchen table as John outlined the hunt with every possible situation covered.

He was in the process of quizzing Sam on the exit strategy when they heard the unmistakable roar or Bobby's truck as he pulled into the spot next to John's.

"Dean, get the door, bud."

"Yes, sir."

Ever the cautious hunter, Dean waited until Bobby was standing directly in front of the peephole to be sure it was him, and had him give the secret knock before swinging the door open to allow the family friend entry.

"Howdy, boys. Did I miss anythin' important?"

John stood up, ready to help the hunter with his bags if necessary. "Just goin' over the game plan. You made good time, Bobby."

"Sometimes I'm just good like that. What's for eatin' around here? I didn't stop for dinner."

At the mention of food, the Winchesters realized they hadn't eaten in hours either.

"There was a grocery store just down the street. I'm sure we could find somethin' to throw together there," John supplied.

"Sounds fair. You boys look busy. I'll make the run," Bobby offered and turned to head back out.

Dean seized the opportunity. "Hey, Sammy, you could use a break, man. Why don't you help the old guy out? He might hurt his back or somethin' carryin' the milk."

It took Sam a moment to get on board with the plan judging by the confused expression he shot Dean, but then it clicked. His brother wanted some alone time with their father to have "the discussion."

"Watch it, boy," Bobby growled, bemusedly.

He glanced between the two brothers, picking up on their silent conversation.

"Now that you say it, my back _has_ been givin’ me some grief after that long drive. Is it alright if I steal the little one for some extra muscle, John?"

Dean didn't know how the man did it, but Bobby always seemed to catch on to their plans even though they never said a word to him about it. Good ole Bobby…

"Yeah, I suppose it's time we took a break. Dean and I will get the weapons ready for tomorrow night. Don't get anythin' that needs to be baked though. I don't trust this oven."

"No worries, dad. We don't trust _you_ with the oven," Dean teased.

"Wise ass…"

"And where do you suppose he got _that_ from, John?" Bobby added and Dean smiled proudly. John huffed in amusement.

"No idea. Must have been his mother."

"Nah, he got his looks from his momma. And you damned well better thank heaven for that, boy."

"Wait, I'm confused. Are you sayin' I look like a chick, Bobby?"

"You _are_ a bit of a pretty boy, Dean," Sam chimed in with an evil grin.

"Oh you are so dead, little brother," Dean warned, taking a few threatening steps towards him.

Sam quickly slid behind Bobby, using the man as a shield.

"Don't go draggin' me into your little spat. Head out to the truck, Sam. Let's hit the road before it gets dark."

John shook his head at the boys' antics. As much as he pretended to be a hard-ass who didn't have time for such trivial things like jokes, he really did miss their playful jousting these days.

Sam quickly slid out the door and made his way to Bobby's vehicle. Bobby turned to the remaining Winchesters.

"You two chuckle-heads better behave yourselves, ya hear? We'll be back soon."

He turned and walked out to catch up with Sam.

John moved back to the table as the door closed, clearing away their maps and research so they'd have a place to eat when the others returned.

Dean let out a soft sigh. _Here goes nothin'…_

TBC

Please comment if this story interests you enough for me to continue posting it!


	2. The Ugly Truth

"You wanna tell me what that was all about, Sam?" Bobby inquired as they drove down the street towards the grocery store.

"What do you mean?" _Always act innocent when you've got something to hide…_

"Look, son, I'm many things, but a fool ain't one of 'em. I know when I'm bein' dragged into a plot and I'd like to know which of you two boys is the mastermind before I become an accessory to World War III."

Sam shrugged. "Dean just wanted to talk to Dad alone is all. Something personal."

"Uh huh…"

Sam ignored the skepticism and wondered if he was doing the right thing leaving Dean alone to deal with their father when it was _Sam's_ problem that was being addressed.

He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the queasy feeling that was settling in his stomach.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"Grab the weapons bag and bring it to the table, Dean. We should get started."

"Yes, sir." Dean moved quickly and efficiently, getting everything set up for the cleaning.

As they began to work, Dean's eyes kept drifting up to glance at his father, wondering how and when to breach the taboo subject of Sam leaving the family business.

The fourth time this happened, John couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Somethin' on your mind, son?"

"No. I mean… Yeah, I guess."

"Well, which one is it?"

"Yes. I have to talk to you about somethin', Dad, but I know you're not gonna like it."

John sighed, putting down the shotgun he was cleaning and giving his full attention to his eldest. "One of _those_ conversations, huh? Well, let's have it then."

"It's about Sammy…"

"Ah. Let me guess, you think he's still too young to hunt."

“That’s part of it, yeah.”

“Come on, dude. You’ve been huntin’ with me since you were ten for cryin’ out loud. Sammy’s already thirteen and has yet to shoot a single goddamned creature that wasn’t painted on a target.”

“It was different for me though. I _had_ to learn to hunt so I could protect him while you were out.”

“And who’s gonna protect _you_ if you’re hurt and I’m not around, huh?”

“…I can take care of myself, Dad.”

“I know you can, bud. But that’s not the point. He needs to learn.”

“Does he though?”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means… What if he doesn’t _want_ to be a hunter? What if he wants to try his hand at a normal life?”

John snorted. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Cause he’s a Winchester, that’s why. What the hell else is he gonna do?”

“He wants to stay in school. Maybe become a lawyer."

"A lawyer?" John chuckled. "Oh, that's just rich."

“There are other ways to help people, you know. We could find a way to make it work; a way that will keep him safe and let him be happy at the same time.”

"This is just a phase, Dean. He'll grow out of it." John picked his shotgun back up again and checked to make sure the barrels were clear.

"I don't think he will.”

An awkward silence fell over the room as John switched to the next gun and Dean fumbled around for something else to say.

"Don't make him hunt, Dad," he practically whispered, just a half step away from pleading.

John lowered the gun to the table again.

"Look, Dean, it's not my mission in life to destroy your childhoods, okay? I wish to hell you could _both_ live normal lives, go to college, meet nice girls, have 2.5 kids… But we don't get a choice, kiddo. The second we turn our backs on the supernatural, that's when it'll attack. And if we're not prepared, it'll win."

“But maybe it’s not too late for him. Maybe the supernatural world doesn’t see him as a threat yet.”

“And what? You think that if he goes off to live some quiet, apple pie life, they won’t target him? That he can just bury his head in the sand and all will be well?”

“I dunno. But if there’s even the slightest possibility of it, don’t we owe it to him to let him decide for himself?”

“Ignorance doesn’t mean safety, Dean. If you turn a blind eye to what’s out there, it’ll still come for you. We learned that the hard way once already, and I’m not gonna make the same mistake again.”

Dean swallowed hard and looked away, remembering how different life had been before his mother was taken from them.

“I get it, Dad. I just-”

“Sammy stays, and he learns how to hunt, starting with this salt and burn case. I don’t wanna hear another word about it, understand?”

Dean knew he should just let it drop. He had given it his best shot, and he had lost. There was nothing else he could say to change his father’s mind.

But he couldn't accept that. Not when Sam’s happiness was on the line. He had to try again. He had to try and make John understand.

"Dad… If we keep stranglin' him by forcin’ this hunting business down his throat, he's just gonna leave, whether he has your permission or not. You know Sammy's always had a mind of his own."

John took a steadying breath, trying to keep his anger under control. It wasn't like Dean to keep prodding the sleeping dragon.

"What do you want from me, Dean? You want me to just let him go? Send him off into the world where I can't keep an eye on him? Can't make sure he's safe?"

"I don't want him to go either, Dad! I would do _anything_ to make him stay! But that's not what _he_ wants, and I'd rather see him happy than watch his soul get crushed day by day until he's no more than a mindless hunter out for blood and revenge!"

"Damn it, Dean! That's enough!" John stood abruptly from the table, slamming his fists on it as he rose. "Sam's gonna become a hunter just like the rest of us, whether he wants it or not!"

Dean stood as well to match his father.

"We're going to lose him that way! Can't you understand that?! He'll do whatever it takes to become his own man. Even if that means shuttin' us out completely!"

"If I have to chain that kid to a radiator every day for the rest of his life to keep him here and safe, then that's what I'm gonna do!"

Dean made his way around the table until he was only a few feet away from his father. "He'll hate you for it till the day he dies. Is that really what _you_ want?"

"I don't give a shit how he feels about me!"

“Obviously!”

John whirled angrily, grabbing fistfuls of his son’s shirt and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"I am in charge of this family, you hear me? And I will do whatever is necessary to protect the two of you, regardless of whether or not you approve of my methods!"

Dean was shell-shocked as his back slammed into the wall. The wind was knocked out of him instantly, but he wasn't sure if it was the collision or his father's towering rage that kept him dumbfounded.

"You and your brother will do _exactly_ what I ask, _when_ I ask it, and _without_ questioning my authority, you got that?! I've been doin' this since you were four freakin' years old, Dean! I _know_ what we're up against and it sure as hell ain't pretty.

“Every goddamn evil thing out there knows about us Winchesters, and the majority of them want to rip us apart, piece by goddamn piece, just so they can gloat about gettin' the best of us, but I'll be damned if I’m gonna let that be our legacy! They already took Mary from us. I’m not gonna lose you boys too!"

With a half-hearted shove, John pushed away from his son, releasing him before turning his back, breathing heavily as he tried to get himself back under control before he did something he'd regret.

Dean's numb hands scrabbled uselessly against the wall behind him, looking for purchase to keep himself on his feet while his heart thudded painfully against his ribcage.

John could be gruff at the best of times, but he had never laid a hand on him or Sammy before. He had never seen his father act this way, and it scared the hell out of him.

Dean slowly eased himself away from the wall, taking a few careful steps towards his father, trying to figure out what to say now to repair any damage he had done and make up for his insubordination.

John had his left thumb and index finger pressed tightly against his eyes and his right hand rested on his hip as he struggled to regain his control.

How could he have let his anger get the better of him so quickly? How could he have taken it out on Dean when the boy was only trying to do right by his brother?

It was the upcoming hunt that had his nerves in a bind; knowing that both his boys would be at real risk for the first time. Risk that he was putting them in himself…

But they had to learn. The world was a cruel place, and it didn’t suffer fools. One day John would be gone, and they’d have to fend for themselves. The thought kept him up at night on a frequent basis. 

Training wasn’t an option. It was a necessity. His sons would come to understand that in time.

"D-dad…?" Dean squeaked out.

Thinking his son was still up against the wall where he had left him, John swung around, arms out in a ‘ _do you really want to push me right now?’_ gesture, and to his horror, the back of his left hand met the side of Dean's face with a harsh slap.

Dean stumbled backwards into the wall again, his own hand coming up to press against his throbbing cheek.

"Dean? Shit, kiddo… I, I didn't realize…" John took two steps towards Dean but froze at the look of pure betrayal in his boy's eyes.

"Don't. Just, don't."

Dean slid against the wall until he reached the front door, then threw it open and raced out into the brisk night.

"Dean!"

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"Sam, grab us a head o' lettuce, will ya?" Bobby asked as he glanced in the cart, mentally preparing the meal in his head so he didn't forget anything.

Sam did as he was told but paused before adding it to the cart.

"Uncle Bobby, I think we've gotta go back."

"What're you on about, Sam?" Concern laced the old man's words.

"Just a feeling, but I'm worried about Dean."

"Dean's with your daddy. I'm sure he's just fine."

"No, this isn't right. This is _my_ fight, not Dean's. We have to go back. Please."

"Alright, that’s it… Talk to me, kid. What's really goin' on here?"

"Dean's gonna tell Dad that I don't want to be a hunter."

Bobby blinked at him, then paled.

"…Forget the damned cart. Get in the truck, Sam. We're leavin'. Now."  
  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to put up another chapter in honor of the SPN finale. Did you all watch it? Thoughts on how they wrapped up fifteen seasons? Feel free to comment on the story or the show in general! :) More to come soon!


	3. Somethin’ Ain’t Right

Dean strode angrily down towards the small beach area behind the motel, filled with enough frustration to make him want to strike out at something.

His cheek was still throbbing to the rapid beat of his heart, but it hurt more to know that it was caused by his father. His _idol_.

Worse than that, he had failed his little brother epically. There was no chance John would let Sam go off and do his own thing now. What the hell had he been thinking?!

Dean knew he needed to calm down. He had been taught at a very young age that it was dangerous to let your emotions get the better of you.

He had to keep himself in check or he would be more susceptible to both normal and paranormal attacks. Since he was unarmed and his cell phone was back at the motel, he couldn't afford to run into either form.

When he knew he was far enough away from the motel that John wouldn't follow him, Dean spun in a circle, trying to figure out what he was going to do now.

He _wanted_ to find the nearest bar and pick a fight with the local drunk just to vent, but he knew he couldn't worry Sammy like that. Without having any way of being reached, he had to stay close to the motel.

He debated on sitting in the sand for a while and just listening to the gentle waves rolling up and down the shore, but he was still too riled up to sit.

He began pacing the abandoned beach, reciting lyrics to his favorite classic rock songs as he went. It gave him something else to focus on and helped him down from his adrenaline high.

After three songs, the rhythmic waves and peaceful surroundings finally calmed him. He sighed deeply, then gave in to his body’s demands and plopped down on the dirt with his back against a large rock.

Dean absently massaged his cheek before wrapping his arms around his knees. He hadn't realized it before, but the temperature had dropped drastically since the sun had set. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say it was somewhere between forty-five and fifty degrees.

A strong breeze made him shiver and he pulled his limbs in tighter to his body to conserve body heat. He wished he had thought to grab his jacket on the way out the door. The thin white t-shirt he was wearing did little to protect him from the chill of the wind.

The stubborn Winchester pride kept him from doubling back for shelter though. He needed to be alone right now.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Once Sam and Bobby made it back on the road, the older man pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pressed the speed dial button for John Winchester, shooting Sam a side-ways look of unease.

The boy waited with bated breath in the passenger seat for confirmation that everything was fine. That he was just overreacting and being paranoid.

But the phone continued to ring off the hook, then eventually went to voicemail. Bobby slammed the phone shut and stepped on the gas a bit harder.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean allowed his eyes to drift shut and his mind to go blank, focusing on nothing but the sounds around him as he took slow, steadying breaths.

That's when he realized there was a soft voice floating on the wind.

It was the most soothing sound he had ever heard. In fact, it reminded him a lot of his mother when she used to sing him to sleep at night.

He opened his eyes and sat up straighter, glancing around to catch a glimpse of this musical goddess.

He gazed up and down the shore until his eyes landed on a beautiful brunette with deep chocolate eyes and pale skin. She seemed to be floating along the water's edge. So much so, that Dean found himself wondering if she was a spirit, or maybe even a mirage.

The waves ebbed and flowed around her bare feet as she glanced out at the stars and crescent moon reflecting in the obsidian surface before she turned to stare directly into Dean's eyes from across the sand.

In that moment, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak… All he could do was stare back.

She beckoned for him to join her at the water’s edge, her captivating voice quickly lulling him into complete submission.

He stood slowly, suddenly unaffected by the bite of the cold. The argument from earlier was long forgotten. There was no anger or pain left in him. Just blissful numbness, and the need to be in her arms.

She waited patiently for him to make his way across the sand to meet her, but he hesitated a few feet away, his hunter instincts screaming at him just beneath the surface of his trance.

This wasn’t right. His brain was telling him to flee in the other direction or yell for backup, but it was as if his body was moving on autopilot. He had no control. 

When she started singing again, he discovered he didn’t actually care. All he wanted to do was make her happy. To worship the very ground she stood on.

The woman was clad in a thin, form-fitting knee-length black dress with legs for days. She was the most gorgeous woman Dean had ever laid eyes on.

This was no one-night-stand kind of girl. She was the kind of girl you brought home, married, and lived the rest of your life with. She was everything he wanted, and everything he could never have.

His eyes dropped to the sand somberly as soon as this realization hit him.

What had he been thinking? Happily ever after was for _normal_ people, not hunters. As if she would ever stoop to his level anyway. He didn’t stand a chance with a girl like that.

Dean jumped when a perfectly manicured, yet icy cold, hand reached out and gently lifted his chin. He hadn’t sensed her approaching.

"Don't be sad, handsome," she said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the waves.

She moved closer until she was able to whisper in his ear, her hand slowly sliding down his chest to settle over his pounding heart while the other gripped his right bicep possessively, keeping him from retreating.

"You can have me, if you want."

"Wh-what…?" Dean was frozen in place, looking like an unsuspecting virgin on prom night. Was she really offering what he thought she was offering?

He swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed as she nipped at his earlobe, then placed an icy kiss against his cheek.

“You _do_ want me, don’t you, my love?”

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Sam came racing through the motel door, Bobby right on his heals, to find John sitting at the kitchen table alone with his head buried in his hands.

"…Dad?"

John flinched, preparing himself for the reprimand he was about to receive.

"John, where's Dean?" Bobby demanded.

"…He left," John mumbled in reply, his words void of all emotion.

"He _what_?" Bobby could already tell he wasn't going to like this one bit. When John ignored him, the older man kicked the table, jostling John’s elbows. “Look at me, damn it! Where did Dean go?”

John lifted his head and scowled at the man.

"I dunno, okay? He took off 'bout half an hour ago and he made it perfectly clear he didn’t want me followin’ him."

Bobby towered over his friend angrily.

"What the hell have you done, John?"

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

A car door slammed shut in the far distance, the sound echoing across the water. Dean’s eyes snap open as he looked around for the source.

"Shh… There is no one else here, baby. Just you and me beneath the stars. The night is ours and ours alone."

The hand that was around his bicep moved up to caress his cheek, regaining his attention as her fingertips traced the scattered freckles that made him look years younger than his true age.

"I-I…" Dean swallowed hard again, his mouth completely dry.

What the hell was his problem? He had been a lady's man since the age of eleven. And yet, for some strange reason, all his confidence had gone out the window the second he had heard her melodious voice.

Something about that was sending up red flags in his head but he couldn't seem to get them into a coherent thought.

"It’s okay. You don't have to say anything. Just come with me."

Her hand stroked all the way down his arm to grasp his hand, tugging him towards the water.

Dean resisted. This wasn’t right. He had to get back to the motel. Back to Sammy.

He opened his mouth to say as much, then hissed in pain when a sharp burning sensation suddenly tore through his chest, emanating from the hand that was still positioned over his heart.

"No more talking, hunter. It's time to go."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"I didn't mean to, alright? It was an accident!" John defended after his brief explanation of what had taken place earlier that night. He started wondering if he was going to have to _physically_ defend himself once he saw the look of pure disgust on Bobby's face.

"You stupid sonofabitch… Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?! You mean _everythin'_ to that boy! He looks up to you for reasons I've yet to understand, and instead of just talkin’ to him, man to man, you go and do _this_?"

John stood furiously. "I said it was a goddamn accident, okay?! I didn't realize he was that close!"

“Was shovin’ him against the wall an accident too?”

“I was just trying to make him listen!”

Bobby barreled into John, pinning him against the wall to give him a taste of his own medicine. “How do _you_ like it, huh?! That shit always escalates, Johnny. Believe me, I know!”

"GUYS!" Sam shouted over the two bickering men, trying to get their attention. He would deal with his father later, but right now his only concern was for his brother. "We have to go find Dean. Where do you think he went, Dad?"

"No clue. Maybe down towards the water?"

"Was he armed? Did he have his cell on him?" Bobby grilled.

"I. Don't. _Know_! Okay?"

"No, it damn well _isn't_ okay, John! You were supposed to be lookin’ after him while we were gone!"

"He doesn't have his cell," Sam stated quietly, drawing the attention of the squabbling men again.

"How do _you_ know?" John questioned with a raised eyebrow. Sam obviously hadn’t been around when Dean left. If John was clueless, then how could-?

"Cause his jacket is over by the door, and I can see his cell in the top left pocket where he usually keeps it. He can be hot-headed sometimes, but he isn't stupid, Uncle Bobby. He would’ve realized he didn't have his phone, and he would've stayed close, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do."

Sam directed that part towards his father with a heated glare. The man had enough sense to look dejected at the accusation, all the fight in him dissipating as he slumped against Bobby’s hold.

"Alright then. John, you keep your ass right where it is. I ain't finished with you yet. Sam and I are gonna try to track him down. You best be workin' out an epic apology for when we get back cause if you've managed to screw your eldest son up more than he already was, I'm gonna blow your head off, bring ya back to life, and do it again, ya hear me? Let's go, kid."

"Yes, sir." Sam refused to make eye contact with his father as he made his way back towards the door.

_Please let Dean be okay…_

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Dean gaped at the woman, feeling like he had been slapped again. How did she know he was a hunter?

"How-? Who…? _What_ are you?" He tried to pull away from her, but he couldn't get his body to respond. Not a single muscle. He was trapped in place, and his chest was still aching, sure evidence of foul play. "What the hell did you do to me?"

He was caught between anger and fear but tried to keep his anxiety hidden from her. Now that she had stopped singing, his mind was starting to clear.

Sammy and Bobby would be back at the motel by now. If he could just buy himself a bit more time, they would surely come looking for him.

The woman slid her right hand up underneath his thin t-shirt, smoothing it over his defined abs as she leaned in towards his ear again.

"I marked you as mine, lover. Mmm… You feel so _warm_."

He shivered as she mouthed at his neck, alternating between sucking and biting at the tender flesh. He grimaced, unable to push her away or stop her wandering hands as they explored his chest and abdomen.

"Sorry, lady, suddenly not so interested. Paralysis is a bit of a turn off for me."

When she pulled back, he caught a glimpse of her true form; an elderly hag with red eyes and jagged teeth. But between one heartbeat and the next, she was back to her beautiful façade.

The damage was already done though. The sight had shaken Dean to the core and destroyed any remaining dregs of want in his system.

"Don't worry, handsome. I can be quite… persuasive when I need to be," she cooed, running her fingers through his soft, spiky hair. Then she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down for a rough kiss.

Dean felt the muscles in his stomach tighten in revulsion, and the chill against his skin sank deeper with every passing second as if she were sucking the life out of him, leaving him feeling lightheaded and weak on his feet.

When she finally released him, she left Dean panting for breath, her paralytic spell the only thing keeping him standing. She began circling her trembling prey, taking in every detail while he remained locked in place.

“Not a bad catch, if I do say so myself.”

"That m-makes one of us," he stuttered under his breath as a violent chill wracked his body. “Your little m-mind trick has worn off, so what do you say you just let me g-go and I agree not to hunt your ass and k-kill you in return?”

She actually had the gall to laugh at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have any chips left to play, so bargaining won’t do you any good. And I let the spell lapse on purpose. I could turn you into my obedient slave just by singing a few more refrains, but it’s much more fun to watch you squirm.”

The woman dropped to a knee in front of him, checking along his boots for weapons that could do her harm. She worked her way back up to his waist, pleased to find nothing of the sort.

"You’re making a b-big mistake…" he threatened, though the shivering took some of the bite out of his words.

The right side of her mouth curved up in a deadly smirk as she stared up into his dark green eyes. " _You’re_ the one who made the mistake, hunter. Didn’t daddy ever teach you not to stray too far on your own? And unarmed too. How very foolish."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

When Sam and Bobby reached the top of the beach, it didn't take long to spot the two other occupants there, though they were so close together, they easily passed as one from their distance.

Sam let out a heavy sigh of relief. “There he is. Thank god…”

He started to head down towards his brother when the woman took a step back and made her presence known.

Bobby flung out a hand, catching the boy gently in the chest and halting his progress.

“Hang on, kiddo. Somethin’ ain’t right here.”

Sam took another look at the beach and noticed the woman as well.

"What do you mean, Uncle Bobby? Looks to me like he's doin' just fine," he smirked.

He quirked a confused eyebrow at Bobby when the older man yanked him down to a crouch and out of obvious sight. He was watching the other two intently.

"You know as well as I do that normally Dean'd be all over a girl like that. But he hasn’t moved a muscle. And it’s too damned cold for her to be out wearin’ somethin’ skimpy like that."

“Well Dean’s only got a t-shirt on, so maybe she just-”

The woman’s appearance flickered again and Bobby shushed Sam with a hand over his mouth.

"That's no girl," he growled. "Go get your dad, Sam. Tell him Dean's gotten himself tangled up with a Rusalka."

Sam frowned up at him as Bobby released him. "She’s a _what_?"

"A water succubus! Go! Now!"

Sam turned and bolted back towards the motel room. Bobby kept his eyes glued to Dean and the deadly creature.

He wanted to shout out and warn the boy or at least distract the woman long enough for John to show up with the appropriate weapons.

But he knew if she felt threatened, her first move would be to drag Dean straight into the depths of the icy water, and there was little chance of her giving him back.

_If Dean gets hurt because of your pig-headedness, John, there's no place on Earth you'll be able to hide from my wrath…_

TBC


	4. Sarina

John was pacing the small room, feeling caged, when Sam came barreling back in.

"Sammy? Did you find him?"

"Yeah, but he's in trouble,” Sam panted, out of breath. “A Rust-salty or somethin'…"

"Huh?"

"A water succubus!"

"A Rusalka?"

"Yeah! That was it!"

"Shit."

John dove for the weapons bag he and Dean had been working on, what seemed like ages ago now, and pulled out a shotgun with special rounds filled with a combination of dead man's blood, salt, and sawdust.

He also pulled out a small firearm loaded with silver bullets. They weren't enough to kill a succubus, but they could pack a punch if handled correctly.

He would need these if she had control over Dean already.

"Lead the way, Sam."

Sam grabbed his brother's gun and jacket, then headed back out towards the beach.

When they reached Bobby's position and John saw what was going on with his own eyes, he felt like throwing up.

The creature's tongue was down his boy's throat, no doubt suffocating him.

"Hey! Get your damn hands offa my kid, Bitch!" John shouted without thinking. He couldn't see past the red haze.

"Nice goin', John…" Bobby grumbled with a frustrated eyeroll, knowing the other man had just ruined their element of surprise.

Bobby ripped the shotgun out of John's hands and started circling to the left, trying to get a clear line of sight as John raised his own gun.

"D-Dad…!" Dean gasped out as he was whirled around and held captive to the succubus's chest with an arm around his throat. She was using him as a human shield.

"Oh, I don't think so, Johnny Boy. He just has too many good qualities to pass up."

She stroked a loving hand through Dean's spiky hair just to piss John off. Then she grabbed a handful of it and pulled the boy's head back at a painful angle.

Bobby and Sam shot John confused looks.

"Friend o' yours?" Bobby retorted, unimpressed.

John ignored the others, focusing solely on the creature in front of him. "It's been a while, Sarina. Aren't you supposed to be dead, Sweetheart?"

"It was just a scratch. And I'm sure your 'get well' card got lost in the mail…"

"Oh, I've got somethin' for ya right here. Don't you worry."

"Tisk, tisk, John. You must have figured out by _now_ those special little bullets don't work on a gal like me. Hell, it barely even stings."

"I don't make the same mistake twice, hun," John smirked, making the smile slip from her face long enough to show her slight hesitation.

John watched Sam circle to the right in his periphery.

The boy had slipped Dean's jacket on for warmth, freeing up his hands. The familiar scent of his big brother ingrained in the leather gave Sam the courage he needed to continue his slow advance.

"Don't get too close, Sammy," John warned, knowing the power this particular succubus possessed. Anyone within a few yards of her could easily fall under her spell.

"By all means, _Sammy_ , come on in. The water's fine! Who do you think has the better reflexes, John? You, or _me_?" She jerked Dean from side to side like a doll, showing that if John took a shot, he'd risk hitting his son instead.

Dean's adrenaline was helping him to break through the full-bodied paralysis.

Sure, he had been a bit nervous when he realized how much trouble he had gotten himself into, but now that everyone he loved was involved and in danger, he found more inner strength to master her affect on him.

He wasn't just going to become her play toy without a fight; certainly not in front of his little brother.

The numbness in Dean’s chest was giving way to a burning sensation as he forced his muscles to move against their will. He fought through the pain, and managed to grab hold of the arm around his throat. Unfortunately, he was still too weak to pull free.

"So _now_ you want to play, huh? You know, it's pretty hot that your family means so much to you that you were able to break through my charm. I must admit, that's never happened before."

She kissed his cheek, and slowly worked her way down his neck and out to his shoulder, mouthing at his quickly cooling skin.

He shuddered against her, causing her to groan deeply.

She smiled gleefully before walking slowly backwards towards the water, dragging a struggling Dean with her. "Time to go. Say goodbye to Daddy, babe."

"Don't…" John warned, tightening his grip on the trigger and trying to find a big enough opening.

"Just shoot me, Dad!" Dean shouted, knowing John could send a bullet straight through him and into the succubus. He'd rather take the slug than be dragged into the deep by a sex-crazed mer-demon.

"Don't you dare, John," Bobby threatened, wishing he had a different gun since the shotgun blast would pepper Dean as well. The most he could do was look intimidating and try to draw the creature's attention long enough for John to get a shot in.

"Dad, please!" Dean begged as he felt the water rising above his ankles. He tried to pull her arm away from his throat again, but she just tightened her grasp, minimizing his oxygen intake.

"Let him go!" Sam screamed, holding out his free hand as though wishing he could just beam Dean safely back to the motel room.

"You know, your little brother is kinda cute too," the succubus whispered in Dean's ear with a smirk.

"Don't even… think about… it," he growled as best he could with a restricted air supply.

"Oh, come on, handsome. A little ménage a trois?"

"What are you… French now? Ain't gonna… happen, sister."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

The water was up to Dean's knees now and he was already shaking painfully. Damn, that water was _cold_! He certainly wasn't looking forward to being submerged in it.

He managed to pull Sarina’s arm away far enough that his speech wasn't so impeded.

"Can't we talk about this? I mean, a motel room would be… a lot more adequate for what… you've apparently got planned…"

"Baby, my waterbed is just as comfortable. You'll see."

"Yeah, well… Don't be disappointed if you… don't get the reaction you're lookin' for. Ice cold water tends to have… a negative affect on the male body."

"You'll do just fine, I'm sure. I've heard the rumors about you, _Dean_."

Dean's eyes shot to his father again. "Funny, I haven't heard… a damn thing about _you_ before."

"Your dad and I go back a few years. He told me all kinds of stories about his two strapping young lads before he realized what I was. But I've been hoping to get the pleasure of meeting you at some point. Looks like Lady Luck is on my side tonight."

"Lady Luck's a bitch, and so are you."

She ran her left hand across his inner thigh, slowly making her way up to her prize, tightly securing her right arm once again around his neck. "You really know how to turn a girl on, don't you, baby?"

"Get offa me," Dean growled through chattering teeth as they sank waist deep into the freezing water. He gasped and blushed profusely as she reached her mark with a dark chuckle.

_No! Not in front of my family. Please, not in front of them…_

"You know, I always wanted to get revenge on your daddy for trying to kill me ten years ago. I just never imagined it would be so much fun. You certainly grew up handsome."

"Ah, bite me."

"Why Dean, I hadn't pegged you for the kinky type. Glad we're on the same page now." The hint of excitement in her voice mixed with the gleam in her eyes was enough to turn Dean's stomach. Perhaps that hadn't been the _best_ thing to say to a succubus…

John, Bobby, and Sam were desperately trying to ignore what she was doing to Dean. It was obvious she was trying to piss them off, and obvious she was enjoying it a bit too much. It was also pretty obvious that her evil plan was working.

All three of them were taking a step forward every time she dragged Dean back a step, but now they were at the water's edge themselves.

It was now or never if one of them was going to take a shot and try to get Dean released before it was too late.

_I'm sorry, son…_

John aimed at Dean's left shoulder, knowing it would cause minimal damage to him but be close to her heart as it penetrated straight through. He'd rather have to patch Dean up than bury him.

_Please forgive me._

Dean could see where his father was aiming and knew he was going to take the shot. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the impact.

 ** _BANG_**!

Everyone in the vicinity jumped and Sarina screamed in rage and pain, turning furious eyes onto the youngest Winchester whose gun was still smoking.

John glanced around, wondering what had happened, knowing he hadn't actually pulled the trigger yet.

Dean's eyes flew open, surprised that he didn't feel the pain he had been expecting.

Bobby's mouth fell open in awe that Sam had had the guts to take the shot with his brother directly in front of the target. He had to give the kid a lot more credit. Whether Sam wanted to be a hunter or not, the boy had one hell of an aim.

Sam had hit her in the right side, but unfortunately, Dean's gun had been loaded with iron rounds from the last hunt; utterly useless for a succubus besides having the ability to genuinely piss her off.

"Why you little…!"

She had thankfully released Dean with her left hand to see how much damage the young nuisance had created, but her right arm tightened even more, practically lifting Dean off his feet by his neck.

He gritted his teeth as his struggles redoubled, trying desperately to pull in oxygen through his constricted windpipe.

When he started bucking against her, she dug her long nails into Dean's left shoulder and hip, causing him to grunt in pain. "Get control of yourself, handsome, or we'll throw down right here and now."

Dean froze instantly and she eased up enough for him to gasp in a few desperate breaths.

"Let go of my brother, or the next one goes through your thick skull!" Sam threatened, raising his aim a bit higher.

She reacted exactly as he had planned; she maneuvered Dean in between herself and Sam, leaving her right side more exposed to John's aim in return.

The man didn't hesitate long enough for her to realize the mistake she had made. He quickly aimed and pulled the trigger, blasting a decent sized hole in her other side.

The shot was a bit closer than he had intended and it scraped by Dean's ribs, grazing him but thankfully not causing too much damage.

She howled in pain, jerking Dean backwards and they both crashed into the deep water behind them.

"NO!" the other three screamed in unison as the creature disappeared, dragging Dean into the depths with her.

TBC


	5. A Second Chance

Dean's breath hitched when he felt the searing pain in his side from his father's bullet.

The small flair of relief that John had wounded the creature quickly disappeared when Dean felt himself being yanked backwards into the freezing water before he had a chance to inhale again.

The second he was fully submerged, his body went into shock. He tried to force his limbs to move so he could claw his way back to the surface again but could only manage a few feeble swipes through the oppressive water.

The succubus's pale arms latched around his waist and pulled him further into the darkness.

He kicked and clawed at her, trying to break her hold, but underwater was where she thrived. She easily spun him around and grabbed a handful of his t-shirt, pulling him level to her.

She locked her lips onto his, sucking in deep breaths of his life-force. Her motive was no longer revenge now, but survival. She needed his strength to heal herself.

Her other hand moved greedily to the front of his jeans, trying to unbutton them.

Since he had broken her spell over him, it was going to take a lot more effort to get what she needed, and she didn't have a lot of time to spare.

His numb fingers tried desperately to thwart her attempts, knocking her hand aside whenever he could find purchase.

She responded by lashing out and hitting him hard in the abs, knocking what little air he had left out of his lungs in a painful gasp. He doubled over, losing track of which way was up and which was down as there was nothing but darkness around him now.

He felt her hands attack his jeans again, this time succeeding where they had previously failed.

"Stop squirming, Dean. Just relax…" she cooed in his ear before nipping at the lobe.

He felt her ice-cold hand stroking his toned abdomen lovingly as his shirt was floating freely halfway up his chest. She giggled in delight.

It was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

John splashed waist-deep into the murky water, casting his eyes about frantically for any sign of his eldest son. _Please, please, please…!_

The water was so still now that the nearly full moon shone on the surface of it like a reflection. _Come on, Dean…_

Sam and Bobby stood on the shore nearby, anxiously waiting for something to happen.

The youngest Winchester, who tended to be short on patience, managed to stride a few steps into the water behind John before Bobby could throw a restraining arm around his chest and drag him back onto the sand.

"Stop! Let me go!" Sam screamed in anger, furiously trying to break free of the older man's grip.

"There's nothin' you can do, son. Jus' let your daddy handle it."

"But he's not doing _anything_! Dean's still in there somewhere! We have to find him!"

"Sam, you could drag the whole damn ocean but we're not gonna find him until she releases him, and she ain't gonna do that till she's good and ready… or dead."

Sam froze against Bobby's chest. "Until _she's_ dead, or until _he's_ dead?"

Bobby didn't have the heart to respond.

Sam's knees gave out at the silent admission and he sobbed brokenly.

“I can’t lose him, Uncle Bobby.”

The older man eased the boy to the sand and tightened his grip around him for support. "I know, kid. And I’m sorry. But there's just nothin' we can do right now except wait. You and John both got her good though. She won't be lastin' much longer."

 _Neither will Dean…_ floated ominously through Sam's mind. He tried to keep his eyes on the water, praying to catch a glimpse of his brother, but his vision kept blurring.

Sam had been scared before plenty of times; felt the burning of adrenaline through his veins and thought he’d pass out from the fear.

But he had never felt such agony in his heart before. He had never experienced the pain of real loss.

Sure, his mother had died and it made him sad to think about it sometimes, but he had never had the chance to actually know her since she had died when he was a mere six months old.

If it hadn’t been for the photos tucked away in his father’s journal, he wouldn’t even remember what she looked like.

But this… This was his _brother_ , his best friend, his caregiver.

Dean had raised him while their father went out hunting for revenge. He made sure Sammy never ran out of food, never went cold, and always had some sort of roof over his head, even if it meant Dean had to go without.

His big brother was everything to him, and this bitch had just taken him away.

"GIVE HIM BACK!" Sam screamed at the top of his lungs, needing to release some of the pain that was building inside of him before he exploded.

John turned back towards the shore and his heart clenched at the sight of his youngest looking so defeated.

 _This_ was what he had been trying to prevent all these years. _This_ was why he had trained his boys to fight and to hunt. _This_ wasn't supposed to goddamn happen!

When the boys had been born, John and Mary had a whole different life planned out for them. They had put together college funds and enjoyed discussing what they each thought the boys would become when they got older.

John always thought Dean would be a great mechanic because he had an affinity for taking things apart and putting them back together again. The boy had so much potential. He could’ve done anything he wanted, had John not forced him into the life of a hunter.

A life that may have just slipped through his fingers, all because of a stupid fight.

Too much time had elapsed. John knew how long Dean could hold his breath under water because it was part of his intense training regime. The boy had been determined as ever to surpass all expectations, but he was only human and minutes had already passed.

The horrible truth hit John in the gut like a bag of bricks. His oldest boy was dead, and John would likely never find his body or be able to give him a proper hunter’s funeral.

He had slapped Dean across the face and chased him away. This was all his fault, regardless of how unintentional the hit had been. Sam would never forgive him.

Everything would change now. John would have to pawn his youngest off to his friends and other hunters until he had the time to properly train the boy.

They would grow further and further apart until Sam unleashed his stubbornness and left, just as Dean had predicted earlier.

Dean was the glue that held their small family together, and they needed him back. Without him at the helm, all would be lost.

_Oh god…What have I done?_

Unable to see Sam looking so broken, John turned his eyes back to the obsidian water. It was ice cold and biting into his skin, all the way up to his thighs, but he could barely feel it. That pain was nothing compared to the aching emptiness he felt inside.

John's mind was unforgiving, repeating over and over again that this was all his fault, just like Mary's death.

He wanted to throw himself into the icy depths to numb the searing pain in his heart, and to stop the accusing voices in his head. But he had to stay strong. He still had one son left, and damn it, he was going to protect him at all costs!

 _Sammy…_ John summoned all the strength he could muster and turned back to his youngest once again.

 _He_ should be the one holding and comforting the boy. _He_ should be the one acting as the father. But he didn't know _how_ to be a father anymore. He was the drill sergeant; the Marine.

Nevertheless, he should at least be with his youngest right now instead of tempting fate in the icy black waters.

He began dragging his heavy legs back towards the shore, forcing his limbs to ignore the urge to give out from underneath him.

It was hard to hear anything over his own sloshing movements and the ringing in his ears that accompanied his shock, but he was sure something had broken the surface of the water a few feet behind him.

Sure it had to be Sarina coming back for more, John was overcome with a mixture of fury and fear. He whirled back around, ready to take her on bare-handed if necessary, because he wasn't going to let her get away a second time.

As he squinted through the darkness for any sign of his foe, what he really found nearly killed him right then and there.

Dean's body was floating along the surface, facedown and unmoving.

_No…_

"Dean!" John threw himself back into the deeper water which instantly sent his muscles into shock but he fought through it. Nothing could keep him from his boy right now. _Nothing_.

Bobby and Sam both heard John's shout and their heads shot back up to see what was happening.

It was too dark for them to see Dean, but they could _hear_ and just barely make out John's frantic movements in the water. Bobby rose to his feet, pulling Sam back up with him.

He was praying to a god he didn't even believe in that the eldest Winchester son was miraculously still alive. Sam clung onto his arm, using it to stay on his feet and also readying himself to break free and run to his brother if he had returned.

When John finally reached Dean, he threw an arm out to turn the boy over and felt instantly nauseous. Dean's skin was ice cold and blue. He wasn’t moving or breathing.

_No no no no no!_

He pulled the boy's stiff body against his own and began the arduous swim back towards the shore.

He struggled his way through the icy water, already running out of steam before his feet could reach the bottom and the two of them kept dipping under the surface as he fought to stay afloat. He needed help.

"Bobby!"

That was all it took to get the other man into motion. Bobby released Sam who teetered precariously on his feet but managed to stay upright, then raced into the water as far as he dared, ready to assist as soon as the others were within reach.

John pushed Dean into Bobby’s arms and he dragged the boy’s limp body towards the shore. John crawled onto the sand next to them, shaking hard and panting from the effort.

Bobby took over while the other man caught his breath. "Sam, go get some blankets from the room. Hurry!"

Sam jumped as Bobby's voice broke through the fog that had settled over his mind when his big brother had first disappeared.

It took a second to register what the man was saying, but once it did, he tucked Dean's gun into the waistband of his jeans and ran to the motel as quickly as his young legs could carry him.

Bobby tapped the side of Dean's face harshly, hoping to elicit a response. "Jesus, John… He's ice cold!"

"N-no sh-shit," John grumbled through chattering teeth. "Water's g-gotta be t-twenty deg-grees."

"Come on, kid. Wake up," Bobby instructed as he ran his knuckles up and down Dean's sternum, trying to rouse him. Had he been conscious, Dean would probably have been kicking the older man's ass for that painful move, but the boy didn't even twitch.

Bobby flattened his hand out, placing his palm heavily over Dean's heart. There was no rise and fall of his chest, but to his immense relief, he did find a faint heartbeat thumping sluggishly beneath his fingers.

"I don’t think he’s breathin', but he hasn’t given up just yet. Boy’s a real fighter."

"D-don't you let him d-die on me, B-Bobby. You b-bring him b-back, ya hear?" John struggled his way further up the beach till he was closer to Dean and his old friend. "P-please…"

"He ain't gonna die, John. Not on my watch."

Bobby tilted Dean's head back and lifted his chin, then placed his ear to the boy's mouth just to be certain there was no air flowing in or out of Dean's lungs.

It was confirmed. Dean was not breathing.

"I know you're feelin' weak right now, Johnny, but I need you to give breaths while I do compressions. Can you handle that?"

John nodded and got into position, finally getting some feeling back in his body. He stroked a sandy hand through Dean's short, spiky hair before starting the arduous process of CPR.

He pinched Dean's nose, sealed his mouth over his son's, then blew as much oxygen as he could muster into the boy's lungs, watching to see if his chest would rise and then fall.

It didn't.

Something was blocking Dean's airway, and John was pretty sure it was a hell of a lot of water. He looked expectantly at Bobby who immediately prepared to start stomach compressions.

Bobby straddled Dean's legs just above his knees, purposefully ignoring the fact that the boy's jeans were unfastened, then interlaced his fingers with his right hand fisted over his left. He pressed the flat palm of his left hand against Dean's abdomen, between his rib cage and navel, then pressed firmly upwards and in five times.

Dean's body jolted with the force, but the water remained lodged.

"Cough it up, kid. Come on…"

After five thrusts, John repeated the two breaths. Still, there was no movement in Dean's chest. "Breathe, damnit!" the terrified father shouted.

Bobby performed five more compressions, adding a bit more pressure this time around and hoping it didn't lead to any internal damage.

_One problem at a time…_

John breathed for his son a third time, desperate for some positive results.

Nothing.

Bobby tightened his own muscles, determined to bring the boy back no matter what the cost. He pushed once, twice…

And water began to slowly trickle out of the side of Dean's mouth.

"We're gettin' there!" Bobby informed John and tried not to get his hopes too high. He pushed three times, four times …

John began slapping the side of Dean's face again. "Please, son. Fight back."

…Five times.

Dean's face scrunched up in pain and confusion as water began to rush from his mouth. He wanted to inhale desperately, but the water just kept coming up and he was choking again.

"Turn him on his side!" Bobby barked before sliding off of Dean's legs and helping to lift Dean's right side to position the boy on his left.

John cradled Dean's head in the crook of his arm and held him up just high enough to keep him from breathing in the same puddle he was currently expelling. Dean's hands came up and scrabbled feebly at John's arm in fear.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm right here. I know it hurts. You need to relax and get it all up. Don't fight it."

Dean's chest was heaving with the efforts of throwing the water back up again. He felt so weak and ironically, drained.

Bobby had one hand on the boy's back to keep him balanced and the other against his stomach for support and comfort. He cringed when he felt the turmoil Dean's abdominal muscles were experiencing beneath his hand.

"Easy, kid… We gotcha."

"D-d'd?"

"Hey, buddy," John responded, tears in his eyes. “Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe.”

"D-d'd?"

Dean sounded confused and his letters were slurring together. Not good.

Those were both signs of hypothermia, not to mention the convulsive shaking that was starting up now that he was breathing again and the fact that his scrabbling hands did not find purchase on John's arm.

_Shit… Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The poor kid couldn’t catch a break._

Sam came running back across the beach, arms laden down with all the blankets he could carry. He almost jumped for joy when he realized that the men had gotten his brother awake and breathing again.

“Dean!”

He skidded to his knees by the older boy’s side, piled the blankets over his torso, and gripped Dean's shaking shoulder to reassure himself that this was really Dean and he was going to be okay. He gasped when he felt how cold his brother's skin was.

His wide eyes met his father's who forced himself to remain emotionless. This was _not_ the time to panic and fall apart. He needed to stay on mission.

"Let's get him inside, Bobby. We need to get him warmed up. Now."

TBC


	6. No Choice

As soon as Dean stopped coughing up water, John sat the boy up far enough to drape one of the thick blankets around his shoulders and then wrapped an arm around his back, preparing to lift him.

"Don'… C'n walk…" Dean mumbled absently, trying to push his father away.

Poor decision-making and unawareness of his own physical state were two other signs of hypothermia and John didn't need any more evidence. His son was in serious trouble.

Getting him breathing again was only half the battle. They weren't out of the woods yet.

He slid his other arm underneath Dean's knees and with strength found only in a father's fierce determination to protect his son, he stood, cradling his teenager against his chest.

Dean continued squirming and trying to break free so he could walk on his own.

John just tightened his grip. "Hold still, Dean. I've got you. Just relax."

All three of them raced back to the room, Bobby and Sam doing what they could to clear the path so John wasn't hindered in any way. He set Dean down on the bed farthest from the door and the cheap, drafty windows.

"Sam, warm up some water on the stove. Warm, not hot. Bobby, we need all the towels we've got and the thermometer out of the first aid kit."

Sam and Bobby immediately set to the tasks they were assigned as John tended to his eldest.

He quickly pulled the blanket from around Dean's torso and started tugging off his wet t-shirt. Dean whined, trying to keep his clothing on. "'s t-too c-cold…" he forced out through chattering teeth, not wanting to lose what little protection he had.

"I know, kiddo. That's why I need to get you out of these wet clothes. You want to get warm, don't you?" John attempted to reason.

Dean nodded, only half understanding his father's words as his eyelids started to droop again and he began to list forward.

"Stay with me, Dean!" John demanded, catching his son and giving his shoulders a rough shake.

Dean's eyes snapped back open in fear and he recoiled slightly with a soft gasp as if he were expecting to get hit again. John's heart clenched at the thought, but that was an issue for another time when Dean was more cognizant.

"I'm sorry, bud. But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?" John asked in a more soothing tone now that he was sure he had regained his boy's attention.

Dean nodded again, more lucid this time around.

"Good." John finally managed to wrestle the drenched shirt from his son's lean body.

Dean instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, desperate for warmth.

"Hang on, Tiger…" John eased Dean's arms carefully away from his chest and gave him a once-over, making sure there was no physical trauma done by the Rusalka that needed to be addressed.

He was relieved to discover that his boy seemed to still be in one piece, aside from the abdominal bruising from the CPR and the superficial tear in his right side from John's bullet.

He would have to address that injury soon, but thankfully, the cold was preventing the wound from bleeding excessively. At the moment, the hypothermia was the bigger concern.

As soon as John was satisfied and released his son's wrists, Dean's arms immediately snapped back to where they had been, and he started to slowly rock back and forth on the bed, desperately trying to generate some heat to stop the painful trembling.

John grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders once again. He wanted to rub up and down his son's arms to help spread the warmth faster, but he knew if there was any frostbitten tissue, the rubbing could cause severe damage.

He settled for using the blanket to pat Dean's spiky hair and blue-tinted skin dry before his gaze shifted down to his soaked jeans. His eyes flickered back up to his son's vacant ones, assessing his mental state.

The last thing John wanted to do was risk traumatizing the boy further, but he didn't have any other choice in the matter. He needed to get _all_ of Dean's wet clothes off.

"Lay back, kiddo," he instructed, then gently gripped Dean's shoulders to help ease him down to the mattress so his weight was more evenly distributed.

The second he was horizontal, Dean tried to curl into a ball instead of remaining flat on his back, but John put a heavy hand on his chest and hip to prevent him from rolling onto his side.

"Stay put till we get you situated, alright?" he instructed, earning another pitiful whine from the boy. "I know, I know. I'll try to be quick about it."

After making sure Dean was properly settled, John moved further down the bed and took hold of the icy denim around the boy's ankles, then carefully began to tug on the pant legs, pulling them over his feet.

Dean freaked instantly as he felt the fabric slipping off his hips. He kicked and lashed out as he struggled to sit back up, grabbing clumsily for the waistband of his jeans.

"No! N-no, stop! W-won' let you!"

John was sure he was going to throw up. His boy sounded so broken and scared as tears began to stream down his pale face.

"Shh… It's okay, Dean. You're safe now. It's just me, and I won't let anyone hurt you. But I have to get you warmed up, understand?"

"Don', p-please…" Dean continued to whimper, getting more and more frustrated that his frozen fingers weren't responding like they were supposed to. Try as he might, he couldn't get a strong enough grip to pull the restrictive fabric back up onto his waist.

"Dean, stop." John ordered, then moved back up the bed and carefully gathered his son's hands into his own, putting as little pressure as he could against the fragile digits. "Look at me, buddy."

Dean desperately tried to pull his hands free as his eyes shot all around the room, looking at everything but seeing nothing.

"Dean? Come on, kiddo. I need you to focus."

John reached up and gently gripped his son's chin, forcing eye contact.

Dean frowned in confusion when his brain registered his father's presence instead of Sarina's. He glanced down at his undone jeans, then around the room again.

"Where is she?" he whispered. "Where'd she go?"

"She's gone, kiddo. I promise. You need to calm down before you hurt yourself."

The boy was close to hyperventilating, but his eyes finally met his father's and seemed to be clearer than they had been since he was first pulled from the water.

"I d-didn' l-let her do it, D-Dad," Dean felt the need to state. "D-didn' le' her…"

John wasn't sure what to make of his son's declaration, so he forced himself to smile comfortingly while inside he was boiling with fury that Dean had been put in this position in the first place.

"Good boy. We'll talk about it later when you're feelin' better, alright? Right now, I need you to lay back down though. Can you do that for me?"

Dean nodded slowly, phasing out again as he stared through his father blankly.

John cautiously released Dean's hands, and when it seemed like he wasn't going to put up another fight he eased his son back down to the sheets, then waited a brief moment to see if he would panic and get up again.

He was relieved to find that Dean obediently stayed right where he was placed, no doubt too exhausted to struggle any further.

John ran a hand soothingly through the boy's damp hair in comfort as he stood over him.

"Don't move, alright?" he reiterated.

Another small nod was followed by a few hacking coughs and Dean squeezed his eyes shut in an obvious sign of pain. He was going to be sore for a while thanks to the CPR.

"Easy, buddy…" John cooed, wincing at the wet sounds coming from Dean's lungs. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his son's torso, giving him a bit more dignity and warmth before returning to the end of the bed.

After a short game of tug of war, he dropped Dean's soaked jeans and boxer shorts to the floor, then draped one of the comforters over his lower half, patting gently to soak up the remaining water on the boy's skin.

Bobby chose that moment to return with the thermometer and a stack of towels he had procured from the bathroom.

"How's he doin', John?"

"He's hangin' in there. Can you find a pair of Dean's boxers in his duffle for me? Sweatpants and sweatshirt too for later?"

"You got it." Bobby deposited his first load of goods on the edge of the bed and moved over to Dean's bag where he started rifling around for dry clothes.

"Sam?" John yelled to get his youngest son's attention, wincing when he saw Dean jump in surprise. He must have been drifting off again. "How's that water comin'?"

"Just about ready!" Sam called back, eager to return to his brother's side.

John reached for the thermometer, then froze.

Instead of the tympanic version that goes in your ear, he found himself staring at a digital rectal thermometer from when his sons were infants. Next to it was a tub of petroleum jelly and an alcohol pad.

He picked them all up and turned to his friend. "What the hell is this?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. "He's hypothermic, ya idjit. You can't use any other kind and get an accurate reading. Don't tell me you didn't know that."

John did, of course. He just never had to put it into practice before now, and he couldn't imagine his son would handle it well, all things considered.

Bobby saw his hesitation and sighed. "You want help?" he offered.

John shook his head. The last thing Dean needed after everything he had gone through was to be held down and probed against his will. He was going to get his son's permission first, or at the very least, make sure he was aware of what was happening so he didn't panic again.

"Hey, kiddo… You still with me?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The boy's eyes blinked back open and his brow furrowed in confusion again like he had already forgotten where he was in that short span of time while his eyes had been closed.

"'s goin' on?" he croaked, his throat sore and irritated from all the coughing and choking. "…don' feel so good, D'd."

"That's cause you're hypothermic, champ. You're gonna be alright though. We just have to get you warmed up again. But first, we need to find out how low your temp is."

John held up the thermometer apologetically, and Dean stared at the instrument blankly, uncomprehending as to its purpose.

Before John was forced to elaborate, the boy's eyes slowly widened when he saw the bulbed end that differentiated it from oral thermometers and he began shaking his head weakly in protest.

John placed his hand against Dean's cheek to keep him calm as he explained.

"I know it's awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but it's not gonna hurt, and we have to know if we're in dire straights here. If so, we have to get you to a hospital."

"N-No hospital," Dean insisted. "Jus' w-wanna sleep…"

"That's not an option, kiddo. Not till we're sure you're out of the woods. Now look, we can debate this back and forth for hours till you surrender, but truth is, Sammy will be comin' in here soon and I doubt you want him to get involved. So, what do ya say we just get this over with, and then get you properly bundled so you can start to warm up?"

Dean looked like he was about to object again, but John gave him his patented stern look and the boy reluctantly wilted. As much as he wanted to, he didn't have the energy to put up a fight, especially one that he knew he wasn't going to win.

"F-Fine," he muttered, dejectedly. This whole situation was humiliating enough without having his brother here to watch.

John nodded in approval. "Alright. Curl up on your left side for me. Take it slow though so you don't aggravate any injuries."

Dean swallowed hard, then rolled away from his father, shakily drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding his face in the blanket. Had his blood been flowing properly, his skin would've been flushed a bright red.

John disinfected the instrument with the alcohol wipe, then prepped it with the petroleum jelly. And with no further ado, he tugged the comforter down just far enough to expose Dean's backside.

He eased the boy's cheeks apart, swiped some extra lubricant over the entrance with his index finger, and gently slid the thermometer into place.

Dean's breath hitched at the feeling of the bulb's penetration and he tried his best to stay perfectly still, but his trembling body wasn't helping matters. He found himself counting the seconds in his head as he waited for it to be over.

When the time was up, John carefully retracted the thermometer and held it up to read the small digital display; 91.3 degrees.

 _Shit…_ If Dean's temperature dropped another degree or two, he would stop shaking. That would be a _very_ bad sign. Dean didn't need to know that though.

John patted him reassuringly on the hip.

"All done, buddy. See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Dean didn't bother to answer, still burrowed in his blanket and feeling miserable.

John placed the thermometer on the alcohol wipe by the side of the bed to be cleaned properly when he had a chance, then he turned to Bobby who wordlessly tossed him a pair of Dean's boxers with a nod of encouragement.

John removed the comforter completely, much to Dean's dismay, then eased the boxers up the boy's numb legs, giving his lower body a cursory glance for injuries before securing the clothing around Dean's hips.

His eyes didn't linger any longer than necessary, partially out of respect for Dean's privacy, but mostly for his own mental health. There were certain things he didn't want to know as a parent of a growing teenager, but his concern for the boy outweighed his discomfort and allowed him to look with a purely clinical eye.

While there were no outward signs of abuse, John wasn't foolish enough to believe that Dean had made it through this ordeal completely unscathed. The memories alone would no doubt scar the boy for quite some time, even if the Rusalka truly didn't manage to feed off of him.

John checked the bullet graze once more to be sure that his son wasn't losing a dangerous amount of blood, then pulled the comforter back into place and tucked it in around Dean's legs, restricting his ability to move while simultaneously trapping any potential body heat underneath it.

Sam chose that moment to stride as quickly as he could into the room, trying not to spill the pan of warmed water everywhere. He set it down on a folded towel before sitting next to his shaking brother on the bed.

Bobby placed the sweats he found on a nearby chair and moved to the pan with his fistful of facecloths and hand-towels. He submerged each cloth in the water before wringing them out and handing them to John one at a time.

John tugged the blanket open, earning an annoyed scowl from Dean who had just started to feel a modicum of warmth building within his little cocoon.

"Sorry, pal. These'll help though, I promise."

He folded the first towel and draped it around Dean's throat and neck like a heated scarf. The next two he placed on his son's torso; one across Dean's upper chest, and the other below his naval, trying to distribute the heat.

Dean shifted in protest and hissed as the warm water felt like it was burning his frozen skin. His head tossed from side to side on the pillow in discomfort.

"Gah… It b-burns. Take 'em off…"

"They're barely warm, Dean. Just leave them where they are."

Either Dean didn't hear his father's words, or he chose to ignore them.

He dislodged them the second John's back was turned and tossed them to the floor.

John turned back with another cloth in hand and sighed in frustration, trying to control his emotions so he didn't repeat the same mistakes that started this whole mess. He reminded himself that his son wasn't thinking clearly and that John had to be patient with him.

He wrapped the new cloth around Dean's neck, then captured the boy's wrists and bundled them back into the blanket so he couldn't interfere again.

Dean shifted restlessly, trying to free himself from the confines so he could get rid of the new towel too, but John wasn't allowing it.

"Dean, stop squirming. Just relax, buddy."

Dean froze immediately, the Rusalka's words coming back to haunt him. _"Stop squirming, Dean. Just relax…"_

Sam noticed the change in his brother's body language. "Dean? What's wrong?" He reached out and placed a gentle hand on the older boy's arm.

Dean jerked away, breaking the contact with Sam, then rolled and began retching over the far side of the bed. He managed to expel a bit more water before having to deal with painful dry heaves that left him panting for breath.

"Dean!" Sam and John both yelled in surprise as Bobby grabbed the nearest trashcan and held it beneath Dean's head.

Sam tried to place his hand back on his brother's newly freed arm for support, but Dean gasped in fear and pain at the slight pressure on his overly sensitized skin.

Sam retracted his hand as though he had been burned.

"D-Dean?" His voice quavered as he forced the word past his lips.

John, realizing what might have set his eldest off, hung his head sadly and closed his eyes, at a complete loss as to how to help his son get through this.

Contrary to Dean's insistence, John was starting to believe more had happened beneath the surf than his boy was willing to admit.

Once Dean regained control of his stomach again, he slumped weakly against the mattress, too close to the edge for anyone's comfort.

John reached for his son and eased him closer to the center of the bed. He ignored Dean's flinch under his touch.

"Deep breaths, kiddo. You'll be okay."

John watched carefully as Dean eventually started to relax, looking like he was on the verge of passing out. His breathing was labored and starting to slow.

He placed two fingers against Dean's carotid artery to find that his heartrate was decreasing as well. Dean wasn't shivering as hard as he was before either, and while it was probably a blessing in disguise for the poor boy's screaming muscles, it was a big red flag for John.

Dean's body was failing him, unable to keep up with the process of spontaneous re-warming. If he stopped shivering, he would stop generating heat. It was time to implement more drastic measures.

John knew what needed to be done thanks to his military training, but he also knew it was going to be hell on his son. Sometimes being a dad flat out sucked.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a comment if you're still reading/enjoying this story and wish for me to continue it on AO3! Hope everyone enjoyed the holiday season, and that you're all having a grand start to 2021! :) xoxo


	7. Just Breathe

"Bobby…"

"Yeah, John. I know. I'm on it," Bobby responded without any further prompting, having read John’s expression after he saw the thermometer’s results. 

He made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower, making sure the temperature was lukewarm as he plugged the tub and let it fill up.

"Dad?" Sam prodded, sounding tentative and scared as he listened to the water running in the other room. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

"We don't have a choice, Sammy. He needs help gettin’ warm. His body can’t handle the stress."

“What about sharing body heat? I could-”

“No. He’s still too cold for that, and I’m not gonna risk _you_ losin’ too much body heat in return. One hypothermic kid is more than enough.”

“Then maybe we should just get him to a hospital…”

“There’s not enough time. Grab the first aid kit and bring it into the bathroom for me.”

“Why?” Sam demanded. “What are you gonna do?”

"Don't worry about that. Just do what I say."

Sam bit his tongue and grudgingly did as he was told. He was really getting sick of his father barking out orders without elaborating on his intentions.

At some point, he wasn't going to stand for it anymore. At some point, he'd be living his _own_ life, with his _own_ rules.

But right now, his brother's life was at stake and he wasn't about to start an argument just for the sake of arguing.

"Ready, John!" Bobby called, sticking his head out of the bathroom door. "Need some help gettin' him in here?"

"Might be a good idea. I don't want to risk jostlin’ him more than we absolutely have to."

Bobby came over to the end of the bed, ready to help in any way he could. Both men pulled the blankets off Dean’s limp body and tossed them to the side.

"Grab his legs,” John instructed. “We’ll lift together on three."

John slid in behind his barely conscious boy, gently propping Dean’s torso up on his lap to get the best grip he could. His son groaned at the movement but didn't protest otherwise.

"Alright, one… two… three."

They lifted simultaneously and carefully made their way into the bathroom, Sam following close behind with the kit.

"Still with me, son?" John checked to make sure Dean hadn't passed out on them yet.

It took longer than it should’ve, but eventually Dean managed to murmur out a breathy "Mhm…"

"Good boy. Almost there, bud."

Bobby and John went right up to the tub, preparing to lower Dean into the barely warm water. Bobby waited for the cue, then quirked an eyebrow at John when he didn't get it.

John's heart was pounding in his chest as he stared down at his pale son.

There were so many ways this could all go wrong, and he knew if he had been in Dean's shoes earlier, the _last_ thing he'd want to do right now is get back into water of any kind.

But as he had told Sam, they were out of options, and Dean was fading fast.

_Sorry, kiddo…_

John nodded to Bobby and they carefully lowered the boy towards the water.

It took a few seconds for his predicament to register, but as soon as his waist was submerged, Dean's strength came back to a certain degree, brought on by his survival instincts and a deep-seated fear of drowning again.

Not knowing where he was or what was happening, he started to struggle, only to discover that his wrists and knees were being restrained. 

That’s when he really started to panic.

He managed to get one hand free and lashed out, nearly giving his father a black eye.

"Whoa! Take it easy!" the man shouted desperately, trying to recapture his son's flailing arm before the boy could connect with the unforgiving porcelain and do permanent damage to himself.

Bobby clung tighter to Dean’s legs, trying his best to keep the boy’s struggles contained. It was important to keep his extremities out of the water so they didn’t force the cold blood in his limbs to circulate back towards his heart and cause an arrythmia or attack.

John caught his son’s wayward arm as it swung past his face again, narrowly avoiding a broken nose. 

He raised both of Dean’s arms above his son's head so it would be harder for him to struggle and easier for John to keep the boy from sinking beneath the surface of the water. But if anything, that just prompted his eldest to struggle more intensely.

"Dean, listen to me! Dean? Dean! Damn it… Sam!" John knew what Dean really needed to feel safe right now, and it wasn't to have orders shouted at him. He needed his little brother. "Sammy, talk to him. Get him to calm down."

Sam pushed his father aside, taking hold of his brother's wrists gently and lowering them to his chest as he knelt by the edge of the tub so Dean didn’t have to struggle so hard.

"Hey, man… You're safe, big brother. Look at me, Dean… Please."

He kept up a soft litany long enough for John to raid the first aid kit. Sam had a feeling he knew what his father was getting, but before he could object, his brother began to speak.

"S-S'mmy?" Dean whispered, confusion crossing his face again as he tried to figure out where he was and what was happening.

He could have sworn he was back in the ocean, being dragged under the water by the Rusalka again. He was completely oblivious to the tears running down his cheeks.

John returned to the side of the tub, a syringe in hand, and took hold of his son's left arm, freeing up one of Sam's hands which the boy redirected to Dean's chin, turning it so his big brother was looking straight at him and not at his father or the needle.

Dean's wide, green eyes met Sam's. "D-don' le' her, S'm…" he forced out in desperation.

"She’s not here, Dean. I won't let her hurt you again, do you hear me?"

"N-no… _Y-you_ , S'mmy…"

"Me? What about me, Dean?"

"Don' le' her… ge' you… Jus' lemme go…" he panted breathlessly.

"God, Dean… No."

Even while completely terrified by the idea of letting the Rusalka get a hold of him again, Dean was willing to surrender himself if it kept his little brother safe. Yet another thing Sam needed to put an end to before he was the cause of Dean's untimely demise.

"I got her good, big brother,” he assured. “She's not gonna hurt either of us anymore, I swear."

Sam wiped the tear tracks off of the older boy’s cheeks, taking care to lightly skim over the bruise that was starting to show on Dean's cheekbone from his father's accidental backhand. Apparently, he had made pretty solid contact.

If only he had kept his thoughts of freedom to himself instead of letting his brother take the hit for it… literally. As always, Dean had put Sam's well-being before his own and ended up paying the price. It just wasn't fair.

He felt his anger towards John boiling just beneath the surface again, but now was not the time to get into it. Dean was his sole priority.

John jabbed the needle into his eldest son's bicep while the teen's attention was directed elsewhere, pressing down the plunger slowly until the drug had been emptied into Dean's system.

Dean gasped at the sharp sting, looking around wildly for the cause of it. For the second time that night, John saw the hurt betrayal in his boy's eyes and it broke his heart.

"It won't knock you out, Dean," he felt the need to justify his actions. "Just take the edge off a bit, okay? I know you're confused, kiddo, but you need to relax. No one is gonna hurt you here."

John knelt beside Sam so he could lock his forearm around Dean's chest to keep his son's head above the water now that the boy was forced into a semi-paralyzed state thanks to the muscle relaxer.

Bobby slowly released Dean's ankles, making sure the fight had gone out of the kid before letting his guard down.

He felt ill when he realized that even the minimal pressure he had used on the boy had left painful looking bruises circling his ankles and calves.

He kept repeating to himself that he didn't have a choice in the matter. The damage would have been far worse had Dean kicked the wall or the tub itself. But that didn’t ease his guilt in the slightest.

Once his brother was forced to settle down, Sam released Dean's wrist and opted for intertwining their hands over the edge of the tub, but it was more so to keep the contact with Dean than to follow the proper procedure for a hypothermic victim.

With all four limbs kept elevated, Dean found himself sitting in about a foot and a half of water that was starting to make his skin burn from mid-thigh up to mid-torso. The only relief was his father’s cold arm which was still wrapped securely around Dean’s chest.

Then without warning, John cautiously began lowering Dean further into the water, inch by inch, until it was up to the boy's chin. He was trying desperately not to scare his son, but he knew the attempt was futile.

Dean swallowed hard as his heart rate sped up to a painfully fast rate, wishing like hell that he could be back in his bed buried under layers of blankets rather than being forced to endure this water torture, feeling completely helpless again.

"I've got you, buddy," John whispered against the side of Dean's head, giving the boy's chest a gentle squeeze to prove his point. "I know I don't deserve it, but I need you to trust me right now, son."

Seconds later, John felt the last dregs of resistance leave Dean's body and tears prickled behind his own eyes. After everything he had put his son through tonight, the boy still trusted him whole-heartedly when it mattered most.

Even in his pained and confused state, Dean did as his father instructed. John honestly didn't know anyone stronger or braver than his eldest son.

"Thank you, Dean." He gently kissed the top of his son's head, letting his paternal instincts take over momentarily while they all had a moment to rest.

Bobby dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling like he was intruding on the family moment but glad he had been there to witness the more humane side of John.

There was no doubt his friend loved his boys more than anything. But sometimes, it took extreme measures for him to show it. It didn't _get_ much more extreme than this night.

The pitifully depressed look of surrender in Dean's eyes broke his little brother's heart.

Sam hoped to hell that he would have his cocky, devil-may-care brother back soon, but the twisting in his gut told him Dean might not bounce back this time around as quickly as he usually did.

"Don't leave me, Dean," he whispered so only his brother could hear him.

Dean was exhausted. A human body wasn't meant to deal with this much emotional and physical strain. That, mixed with the drugs now coursing through his system, pushed his adrenaline to the back burner and all the fight left him.

If he slid beneath the surface again right now, he wasn't sure he'd put in the effort to survive. At this point, he left his own life in the hands of his family.

All he wanted to do was let the darkness take him so he wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. He couldn't stand the pitying looks he was getting from everyone else in the room.

Hunters weren't supposed to be pitied, they were supposed to be feared, trusted, strong…

He was a failure through and through. He let his little brother down when the night began, and let the whole world down less than an hour later.

He clearly didn't have what it took to be a hunter. He was pathetic.

Even now, he could clearly see where he was and who was with him, but he couldn't fully push away the anxiety that Sarina would be coming for him again.

He was in a _bathtub_ for crying out loud! There was no creature or threat that could reach him here, and deep down, he knew that. But that didn't quiet his nerves in the least.

Totally pathetic.

Worst of all, his body wouldn't even allow him to give up.

Every time he tried to escape to the blessed darkness, his shaking would increase and he would feel the horrible pins and stabbing needles shoot through his nervous system as his abused muscles spasmed and his skin burned as it began to defrost.

Unfortunately, the paralyzing drugs were useless for numbing the pain.

On a particularly harsh spasm, Dean nearly knocked his head into the porcelain tub. But John had tucked a towel there, foreseeing the inevitable tremors.

Dean Winchester was falling apart, and everyone he loved was sitting here, watching it happen and feeling completely helpless as they could do nothing to ease his pain.

It was mortifying. When Dean let slip a pitiful whimper, John's supporting arm was the only thing keeping him from trying to drown himself from the embarrassment.

"Easy, Dean… Just breathe through it," John coached for what felt like the hundredth time since they had gotten Dean into the tub.

He checked his watch and was dismayed to find that it had only been about five minutes so far. Time really drags when you're torturing your children.

TBC


	8. All The Comforts of Bobby

Every couple of minutes, Bobby would run the hot water just long enough to warm the tub another few degrees.

He couldn't risk sending Dean's body into shock with an abrupt temperature change, but he didn’t want the water to cool off and make the situation worse either.

When the last heating attempt forced another whimper out of the boy, Bobby excused himself to sneak a few sips from his hip flask and to find some glue to put his heart back together again.

He loved both of those boys like they were his own, and after everything the poor kid had been through over the past three hours or so, the last thing Bobby wanted to do was cause him more pain. He could only imagine what this was doing to John.

After tidying up the bedroom a bit, he made his way back to the bathroom door just in time to see John check Dean’s forehead with his free hand.

They made eye contact when the younger man noticed his return, and the relief was clear in John’s face. Dean’s temperature was finally rising.

Bobby nodded his acknowledgment of their silent conversation and managed to give John a small smile. John smiled back, some of the tension leaving his taut body.

But of course, their moment of happiness was short-lived.

"Uh… Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"The water…"

"What about-? Damn it."

The clear water was slowly turning to a light shade of red and darkening by the second.

Dean's body temperature had risen enough for his blood to start circulating faster, which was good in the grand scheme of things, but not so much for the bullet wound in his side.

All the boy's struggling and shaking earlier had reopened the tear with a vengeance.

"Alright. Bath time's over, kiddo,” John stated, easing Dean up a bit higher in the tub, preparing to extract him completely. “Bobby, can you pull the plug? Sam, go reheat the water on the stove. Boiling this time. Your brother's gonna need it."

“But, Dad-”

He didn’t want to leave Dean’s side. What if he panicked again and needed Sam’s help?

“That wasn’t a request, dude. It was an order.”

"Yes, sir…" Sam grumbled, then gave his brother’s hand a gentle squeeze and stood. "See you out there, man." He turned and reluctantly left the room without a backward glance.

John waited until the water was practically gone before propping his son against the wall of the tub. Only when he was sure the boy wasn’t going to slip down or fall sideways did he relinquish his hold on Dean.

He quickly grabbed a towel and spread it out on the floor, then with Bobby’s help, he eased Dean out of the empty tub and laid him down on the clean towel.

Snagging a few additional towels, the two men set about patting the boy dry. He had begun to shake violently again, which was both a blessing and a curse.

It was good to see that Dean’s body was fending for itself and trying to warm up the natural way, but the spasms were clearly painful and borderline seizure-level. 

That was going to make stitching the wound rather complicated.

"I'm gonna go grab his sweats from the bedroom,” Bobby offered gruffly. “Be right back, John."

He slipped out of the room quietly, giving the other two some father/son time to prepare.

"How're you doin', Dean?" John asked by way of distraction once they were alone, hoping to get an honest response out of his eldest while he prodded clinically at the boy’s wound to assess the damage.

"B-been b-better," Dean ground out through clenched teeth as his body jolted uncontrollably.

"We'll get you there, son,” John promised, carding the fingers of his free hand through Dean’s hair soothingly. “Just hang on, alright?"

"Y-yeah…"

Dean’s hands clenched into weak fists by his sides, alerting John to the fact that the small dose of muscle relaxer he had given the boy was already wearing off. His eyes were also clearer and he didn’t seem to be as confused as he had been before.

Maybe now he could get some straight answers before Dean was cognizant enough to rebuild his barricades and formulate lies in order to hide behind his denial.

"Hey, kiddo… I've gotta ask you somethin', and I need you to tell me the truth, alright? Do you remember what happened after she pulled you under the water?"

Dean swallowed audibly as scattered images raced through his mind. After a moment, he shook his head. "N-not r-really. S-sorry."

John fought to keep the disappointment off his face and instead let out a breathless sigh, continuing to stroke through Dean’s soft hair.

"That's okay, pal. We'll talk again after you’ve had some rest."

Dean's eyes drifted away. He didn't _want_ to talk about it at all, but he knew he'd have to if he were going to keep his family safe.

From what little he _could_ recall, Sarina had managed to escape, and John needed to know she was still out there. He’d put off telling him for as long as he could though in order to avoid the uncomfortable conversation that would go along with it.

Plus, John would want to go after her immediately and he’d need backup, but Dean was in no shape to face her again just yet. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Sam go in his place. This was not a hunt to cut your teeth on.

When Bobby came back, he handed the sweatpants over to John who methodically swapped out the soaked boxers, but as he pulled them up Dean’s legs, he paused, letting them rest a few inches shy of the boy’s waistline.

He had just noticed the four thin crescent-shaped cuts on Dean’s left hip where Sarina's sharp nails had pierced his skin. They were mirrored by four others that adorned Dean’s right shoulder. John gently ran his thumb over the marks.

"Do these hurt, Dean?"

The boy shakily lifted his head just far enough to see what his father was referring to, then let it drop back to the hard floor with a thud as a blush crept up his cheeks.

How had he let this happen? How did he fall so easily for her trap? How had he let her _use_ him like that in front of his family?

He shook his head no in response, feeling miserable again.

"And your shoulder?"

"…'s fine."

"Maybe so, but I'm gonna swab the marks with a little holy water later, just to be safe."

Great. As if Dean wasn’t having enough fun already…

“But first, I’m gonna have to clean out the gunshot wound,” John warned as he started digging through the first aid kit for the supplies he’d need.

Dean swallowed dryly and stared resolutely up at the ceiling, drawing on past experiences to try and prepare himself as much as possible for the inevitable pain.

His entire right side was already burning fiercely from the gash itself. Cleaning it was going to hurt like a bitch. And he didn’t even _want_ to think about stitches. He absolutely hated them with a passion, but they were a necessary evil in their family’s line of work.

"Alright. Let's have a look."

John eased Dean's right elbow away from his body, granting himself better access, then prodded around the wound to make sure there was no debris stuck in it and that the ribs underneath weren't chipped or shattered.

Normally, he would just ask Dean if they felt broken because the boy certainly had had a lot of experience with broken bones over the years, but his son probably wasn’t coherent enough to make that judgment due to the hypothermia.

Dean gasped and jerked at the pressure against the deep bruising that already surrounded the injury where his blood had pooled. 

He quickly bit his bottom lip again to suppress any further sounds. He didn't want to make this harder on his father than it already was.

John shot a look over at Bobby who eased himself down onto his knees behind Dean.

“Let’s get you off’a that cold floor, shall we?” he offered, then gripped Dean gently under his shoulders and lifted him into a reclined position against his own chest where he could restrain the boy if he started to thrash.

Bobby could feel the chill and dampness of Dean’s skin through his own thin shirt and it took all his willpower not to just bundle the kid up in warm blankets till he thawed out.

Instead, he wrapped him in his arms the best he could, sharing his body heat whilst keeping the boy immobile so John could patch him up properly.

Dean wanted to gripe that he didn’t need to be held like a child. He was a man now, and he could handle pain without trying to squirm away. But the heat was addicting, so he sank back into Bobby’s embrace and hoped it would be enough to quiet his trembling.

Once he was settled, John inched closer and gave his final assessment.

"The bath helped, but you’ve still got some beach sand in there and who knows what else, so I’m gonna irrigate the wound first. Then we'll see if it needs a few stitches or just some butterfly bandages, okay?"

Another weak nod. Dean wasn't really listening. He knew the drill, and he knew it was going to hurt like hell. He didn't really care about the details.

John picked up a bottle of rubbing alcohol and took off the cover, then shot Bobby another look who secured his arms more tightly around Dean, keeping the boy’s crossed wrists pinned to his chest to prevent him from lashing out once the pain registered.

John held a towel against Dean's side just under the wound to absorb the runoff, then began pouring the cleansing agent straight over the gash.

Dean cried out, then bit through his bottom lip as the chemical felt like acid searing into his broken skin. He tensed and bucked involuntarily, but Bobby kept him in place, whispering words of comfort to him while John rinsed the debris out the best he could.

Using the soaked towel, he blotted the wound dry and wiped away the trickles of blood that were starting to flow more freely and obstruct his view.

Then he poured alcohol onto a fabric swatch that wouldn't leave pieces of cotton in the wound and with a mumbled apology to his son, he pressed the fabric into the wound as deeply as he could go.

Dean's back arched and his head flew back in agony as Bobby tried his damned best to restrain him. "Ah! Sh-shit! Stop! P-Please, Dad!"

"Okay, okay… Almost done, kiddo. Just hang in there a little longer…"

John kept talking, hoping to give Dean something else to focus on as he moved the fabric around, taking care to swab any place that could be ideal for growing an infection.

He was also able to gauge the depth of the wound, coming to the unfortunate conclusion that a few stitches would be necessary after all.

Finally, he extracted the fabric carefully and Dean let out a broken sob of relief.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," John murmured, patting the wound dry again with a fresh towel and checking to see if the bleeding had slowed at all.

The apology was meant for more than the pain he was inflicting now though. It was for the fact that none of this would have happened if it weren't for John being so thick-headed.

It was for the fact that it was _John's_ bullet that had pierced his son's side to begin with. John’s fault that his eldest was suffering. And everyone in the room knew it.

"I hate to ask, but think you can handle about six stitches right now, kiddo? We could probably wait a bit if you need to…"

"N-now," Dean panted out, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. He skated his tongue across his throbbing bottom lip, tasting blood.

Bobby gently pressed a gauze pad to Dean’s wound to keep the bleeding to a minimal as he watched John carefully disinfect then thread a curved needle. The man had done this more times than he could count, but it never got any easier.

John settled into a more comfortable position by Dean’s side and prepared to get started, but then paused and looked up at his friend.

"Bobby, that's not really gonna work."

Bobby looked up at John in confusion for a second before he realized what the man was talking about. He had taken to rocking Dean in his arms while waiting for John to get prepared. But obviously, the swaying would make stitching rather complicated.

"Oh, right." He brought them both to a standstill and settled for resting his cheek against the side of Dean's damp head instead. "You speak up if you need a break, ya hear?" he demanded next to the boy’s ear.

If Dean nodded again, Bobby couldn’t tell due to the violent tremors that had steadily increased and were still assaulting the poor kid’s exhausted body.

In a rare show of paternal love, John gently gripped his son’s upper arm, stroking his thumb back and forth over the cold skin in a soothing manner.

The fact that Dean seemed confused by the gesture- maybe even uncomfortable with it judging by the way his arm twitched back in surprise at the contact- proved how rare the notion was and it brought Bobby’s ire back up to a boil.

These boys deserved so much more out of life; so much more from their own damned father. And Bobby vowed in that moment to keep closer tabs on the kids from now on, regardless of how much physical distance was between them during their cross-country travels.

John gave Dean a sad but proud smile, then shook off his sentimentality pretty quickly and returned his focus to the task at hand. He needed to stay on point till the job was done.

As John lowered the needle towards Dean’s wound, Bobby realized that Dean wasn't the only one shaking now.

John’s wet clothes were plastered to him, and while he hadn’t been fully submerged or spent as much time in the water as Dean had, his body was finally telling him enough was enough.

Attempting to ignore his own discomfort in favor of caring for his child, he brought his hands close to Dean's side, but he was having trouble gripping the needle and keeping it steady.

Dean wasn't going to say anything to protect himself, but he squeezed his eyes shut at the sight, preparing for the pain of having a needle shakily woven through his torn skin.

Much to his relief, Bobby came to the rescue.

"John, hang on. You're just as frozen as Dean is at this point. Why don't you go get changed and I'll finish this up? Otherwise, we'll have to start drawin' a bath for _you_ too _,_ and trust me, no one wants to see that."

"Thanks for your support, Bobby," John growled, but he knew his friend was right. As much as he wanted to stay by Dean’s side and continue caring for him, remaining in his frozen clothes would do more harm than good.

"Fine, he reluctantly acquiesced. “But I’ll only be a minute. Give a shout if you need me before then."

"I’m sure we can manage just fine. 'Sides, the poor kid is probably sick of lookin' at your ugly mug constantly hoverin'."

John snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ll be right back, buddy.” He ruffled Dean's hair as he stood stiffly and made his way back into the bedroom to search through his own duffle.

Bobby didn't move immediately, content to just rest for a second with Dean safely in his arms. "How're you holdin' up, kid?" he asked softly.

Dean hesitated, then forced out an "'m g-good," between teeth-rattling shivers.

"Yeah, I'll bet. If by ‘ _good’_ , you mean achin' all over, frozen to the bone, mortified by all the attention, and completely exhausted…"

For the first time that night, Dean actually managed a small chuckle, which was as close to an agreement as Bobby was going to get.

"What do ya say we get this over with so you can get tucked in and pass the hell out?"

"K-kay."

"I don't suppose you can stop the shakin' long enough for me to patch you up?"

Dean just shot him a weary look over his shoulder.

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, didn't think so. Worth a shot though. Alright, I suppose I've handled worse and in worse conditions, but my body ain't that flexible, kid. Gotta lay ya down on the floor again or this ain't gonna work."

It was killing Dean that he had so many retorts for that statement, but it would take too much effort to spit them out.

He settled for another tired nod and tried not to wince as the older man eased him back down onto the spread-out towel. Bobby winked comfortingly at the boy as he tried his best not to loom and appear intimidating.

Dean found he was able to relax minutely. For some reason, things never seemed as dire as they were when Bobby was around.

TBC

Please review! :)


	9. What Really Matters

Once Dean was relatively comfortable on the floor again, Bobby disinfected his hands and took up the stitching needle John had abandoned.

He moved Dean's right arm up and out so that it was perpendicular to his body, then sat down in the "L" he had just created, making sure Dean couldn't bring his arm back down on a pain reflex.

"Here goes nothin'…" Bobby warned before carefully piercing Dean's skin, threading the needle through to the other side, then drawing the first edge of the wound closed as he gently tugged.

Dean's arm twitched the second he felt the familiar pinch, instinctively wanting to wrap it around his side protectively. He settled for latching onto Bobby's pant leg, just above the man's ankle.

Bobby knew he needed to get the boy's mind off of the pain, so he launched into the first topic that came to mind as he tied off the first stitch and began the second.

"So, what happened with you and your daddy earlier… You know it was an accident, right?"

Dean looked directly into Bobby's eyes, surprised that the man had found out about the little "dispute" he had had earlier with John. But then he quickly looked away again.

"…Yeah."

"Doesn’t excuse what he did, mind you. He’s always been hot-headed and had a one-track mind for huntin’ ever since your mama passed, but he never would’ve swung at ya intentionally. All he wants is to keep you boys safe."

Dean grimaced as Bobby pulled the second stitch tight. "I know," he gritted out past clenched teeth.

"Do you? He loves you two more than anythin', even if he’s useless at showin’ it. More importantly though, I know how much you dote on that little brother of yours, and that you’d go to the ends of the earth to protect him. You really think you can just let him walk out the door and start a whole new life on his own?"

Dean grunted in pain, but he wasn't sure if it was because Bobby had started the third stitch, or because of Bobby's words. "No… ‘s gonna k-kill me, Bobby. But I j-jus' want him to be h-happy."

Bobby glanced up and saw the pain and sincerity in Dean’s eyes and he sighed heavily.

"You're a good kid, you know that? Stronger than anyone else I know. What's your secret, huh?"

He moved on to the fourth stitch while Dean took a moment to think over his question.

"W-Wheaties," he eventually croaked out.

Bobby snorted. "Should've known you'd say somethin' witty like that, smart-ass. You think you've got muscles in these little toothpick arms o' yours?"

Fifth stitch.

"M-more than you, old m-man."

"Who you callin' _old man_ , tyke? Just cause you're barely outta diapers…"

"B-but you'll be b-back in 'em soon."

Obviously, Dean preferred humor right now than psychological chit chat, so Bobby verbally jousted with him as he neared the end of the wound.

"Don't make me shoot you myself, boy," he warned playfully.

Final stitch.

"I'll g-give you a f-free sh-shot."

"I'll take a raincheck. I just finished patchin' your ass up. Not gonna waste my talents by makin' a new hole just for the fun of it."

He cleaned around the wound again, dabbed disinfecting cream over the stitches, then smoothed a thick bandage over them, taping it in place.

"Done and done. You alright, kid?"

Dean smiled as he released his death grip on the man's calf and let the tension bleed from his throbbing muscles now that the worst was over. "Yeah. Th-thanks, B-Bobby."

"Anytime, sport. What do you say we get you back into a nice warm bed now?"

"Th-thought you'd n-never ask.” Dean glanced around the small room and realized his father hadn’t returned like he had promised. “’s D-Dad okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine. Probably just sulkin' cause he was startin' to prune. I'll go make sure your bed is all set, then come back and getcha. Hang tight."

He patted Dean's shoulder before rising stiffly to his feet and cracking his back.

“See? Old,” Dean rasped with a smirk.

Bobby shot him a good-natured glare and tossed a dry towel over him haphazardly. “Watch it, punk. I can still put you over my knee if necessary.” 

Dean laughed, then winced as the movement pulled at his stitches.

“See whatcha get for pickin’ on an old man?”

Bobby winked at him again, then went into the bedroom to check on the boy’s father.

"John? What’s the hold up? You need some help?"

He found the man stripping the damp sheets off of Dean's bed and tossing them into a corner of the room. He was dressed in a dry set of clothes, but he was still shaking a bit.

"'m good," he mumbled, focusing on the task at hand.

"Uh huh… If I don't let Dean pull that shit with me, what makes you think _you're_ so special?"

John paused at the mention of his son. "Is he alright?"

"Patched up and ready for a warm bed. I’d say we’d dodged a bullet here, but considering the circumstances…"

John wilted in front of the older man, dropping his head to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that were trying to escape. 

He had been putting on a decent show up until now, but he was too tired to hold back the guilt anymore, and it was tearing him apart.

Bobby sighed.

"John, he doesn't blame you for what happened.”

"That makes one of us," John grumbled as he began fussing with the sheets again, striving for those military-grade corner folds.

Bobby stepped forward and grasped his elbow. "I've got this. Go see to your son."

John paused again, shooting a furtive look towards the bathroom as if he were wondering if Dean would even _want_ to see his face again.

“ _Go_ ,” Bobby insisted, giving him a small shove to get his momentum started in the right direction.

"You sure you-?"

"I think I can handle makin' a bed. I wasn't exactly born yesterday."

John huffed out a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "More like a century ago."

"You ain't so spry yourself, ya old geezer."

Bobby pulled a set of spare blankets from the only closet in the room and took up where John had left off.

"Water's ready again, Dad!" Sam called from the kitchen, and just like that, John was back in parent mode.

"Pour some in a glass, would ya? Then meet us back in the bedroom," he replied before heading resolutely towards the bathroom door.

"Hey, John?"

"Yeah?" He turned back just in time to catch the sweatshirt that was thrown his way.

"He'll be needin' that."

"Thanks, Bobby." _For everything._

Bobby nodded, then John entered the bathroom to find Dean laying on the floor, right where Bobby had left him.

"Sorry that took so long. How's the side doin’, kiddo?"

"G-good as n-new," Dean forced a half smile, trying to comfort his father, having guess what had delayed the man’s return.

John held up the sweatshirt. "Brought a peace offerin'."

"I'll t-take it."

“Gotta clean out those cuts first though…” John stated, apologetically.

Dean nodded glumly. He was nearly maxed out on his pain threshold already, but the last thing he needed was some supernatural infection to set in on top of everything else.

John took a small vial out of the first aid kit and poured some of the fluid onto a cotton ball. He tugged the draped towel down just far enough to expose Dean’s hurt shoulder, then dabbed at each mark, grateful that the wounds did not sizzle and steam as he did so.

Dean slumped in relief and laid there boneless while John finished with his arm. He tensed again when his father moved down to his hip, knowing those cuts were a bit deeper than the others.

He hissed through his teeth when the small crescent punctures frothed and steamed, but it didn’t last long and the pain was negligible, leaving behind a dull burning sensation that helped to spread heat through the general vicinity.

When John was finished, he taped a square gauze patch over the area and secured the sweatpants up where they belonged.

“Let’s try gettin’ you upright. Nice and easy now…”

John pulled the towel away completely and helped his son sit up before easing the boy's head through the collar of the well-worn sweatshirt. His trembling arms were a bit more difficult to maneuver but, with a little teamwork, they managed.

For the final touch, John pulled the hood up over Dean's head to help trap in the warmth.

"Alright. Bedtime, sport. Think you can stand with some help, or should I get Bobby back in here?"

"I can d-do it."

"Let's take it slow then."

By this point, getting his blood circulating would do more good than harm. His skin wasn’t icy to the touch anymore, and the shivering was getting stronger by the minute, proof that his body was taking back control on temperature regulation.

It seemed they were out of the woods. The poor kid would be sore and exhausted over the next few days of recovery, but the hypothermia had scaled down to a minor threat.

John moved behind Dean and secured his arms underneath his son's shoulders, hoisting him up onto his feet.

Dean's knees immediately buckled, but having had plenty of experience carrying wounded soldiers and hunters over the years, John was able to adjust his grip and take on the majority of Dean's weight.

They made their way, step by slow step, into the bedroom and John gently deposited his son back onto the now dry bed which Bobby had pulled down for them. He tucked the covers up around Dean's neck and the boy’s eyes fluttered shut in relief at the warmth.

He was so damned tired…

Sam had been waiting in the bedroom with a steaming glass of water in hand which he promptly passed to his father as soon as he finished tucking Dean in.

John sat on the side of the bed and cupped Dean’s cold cheek, startling him into cracking his eyes open again.

"Sorry, dude. Need you to stay awake just a little bit longer and drink as much of this as you can."

Dean sniffed at the air, then frowned in disappointment.

"Wh-what, no hot ch-chocolate?"

John smiled, remembering how Mary used to make the comfort beverage for their eldest whenever he came in from playing outside in the snow. "Maybe later. Don't want to push our luck right now though."

Dean was able to lift his own head, but John wasn't about to risk his son spilling hot water all over himself if he couldn't get a firm grip on the mug, so he kept hold of it for him instead.

John moved it closer to Dean, sliding the lip of the mug between his chattering teeth before tilting it enough to allow some of the fluid to pour into the boy's mouth.

Dean spluttered as the relatively hot water trickled its way down his frozen esophagus, coughing some of the fluid back up, but managing to get at least half of the gulp down.

He winced, his throat still sore from choking up the water he had inhaled earlier.

"Small sips, pal…" John coached, waiting for Dean to regain control of his breathing before bringing the mug to his lips again.

Dean managed a few more sips before pulling his head back, clearly stating he had had enough. John wasn't fully satisfied yet though. He moved the mug as Dean moved, refusing to let his son quit.

"Bit more, Dean. Come on. It'll help."

He forced the boy to swallow a few more mouthfuls before finally conceding to Dean's protests and putting the cup down on the nightstand.

Dean dropped his head back to the pillow, feeling completely drained once again. It had been a very long night. If only he could stop the shaking, he was sure he'd be fast asleep by now. But as it was, all he could manage was to curl up into a tight ball on his left side.

John sighed, wishing he could share his body heat to help warm Dean, but considering he was still partially frozen as well, there wasn’t much heat he could offer.

Reluctantly, he turned to his youngest who was eagerly standing by, waiting to help. As much as he didn’t want to put the boy at risk, Dean needed more heat. He wasn’t going to take the chance until he knew Dean’s temperature had risen to a safer level though.

“Sam, go get ready for bed.”

His son opened his mouth to argue as always, but a jerk of Bobby’s head cut him off.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, then collected his things and shuffled off into the bathroom. John would have to have a talk with that boy soon about obeying orders. Dean never gave him this much grief when he was a tween.

“What is it, John?” Bobby asked quietly as soon as Sam had closed the bathroom door, knowing the youngest had been dismissed for a reason.

“Gotta take Dean’s temp again before I let Sammy crawl into the bed with him.”

Bobby nodded in understanding, then circled around to the far side of the bed that Dean was facing. The poor kid was barely clinging on to consciousness, but the shaking kept him just this side of awake.

“Time to see if that bath did us any good…”

Bobby found Dean’s hand beneath the covers and held it gently in his own while John prepped the instrument. Then he took to petting the boy’s head with his free hand as John did his best not to disturb his son more than absolutely necessary.

Dean’s grip on Bobby’s hand tightened slightly as the thermometer slid in, but otherwise, he was too tired to show any outward signs of distress.

His eyelashes fluttered, then closed and didn’t reopen. His hand went lax and his breathing evened out, despite the continued chills.

“I think he’s out, John,” Bobby reported, keeping his voice low.

“Can’t say I’m surprised after all this. He’s had a hell of a night.”

John eased the thermometer out, covered his son back up properly, and checked the display once more. 94.8 degrees.

Better. They were almost out of hypothermia range, but Dean still had a few degrees to go before he would reach a normal temperature and the shivering would stop.

When Sam returned from the bathroom, both men stood and vacated the bed. John pointed down at the space directly behind Dean.

"Sammy, slide in next to your brother. He needs to share your body heat for a while."

Sam didn't hesitate. He crawled under the blankets and plastered his chest to Dean's back, throwing his right arm protectively around his abdomen while taking great care not to put too much pressure on his big brother's injuries.

Dean jolted back to consciousness and tensed at first, feeling a body grabbing hold of him from behind again, but once he realized that it was just Sammy’s little hands, he relaxed against his brother, grateful for the added warmth.

It didn’t take long for him to drift back off, letting out a small sigh of relief when his body started leaching heat from Sam’s and the shivering quieted a bit.

"If you start to feel too cold, you tell me, Sammy," John ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Sam tightened his grip fractionally around his brother’s waist, clearly negating his words. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was terrified by the bluish tint that remained on Dean's pale skin. That, along with the cold, made his brother appear to be dead.

But with Dean's back up against him, Sam was able to feel the older boy breathing and that comforted him like nothing else could.

He was also close enough to hear the breath ghosting out of Dean's recovering lungs. Though it sounded painful and raspy at times, the organs were at least functioning again.

Now that the crisis had mostly passed, John turned his focus to his own painful shivering. What he wouldn’t give to crawl under his own sheets and pass out then and there, but he still had to get ready for bed.

He glanced over at Bobby to ask him if he could have the bathroom first, only to see the man glance at the second bed before meeting his gaze, looking uncomfortable but resigned.

John glared at him and shook his head.

"Don't even _think_ about it, Bobby. I'd rather freeze to death."

"Fine with me, ya stubborn ol’ bastard. I'd rather you froze to death too, trust me. At least take the spare comforter from the closet. That shade of blue ain't really your color."

John glanced down at his hands and had to admit his skin _was_ tinted blue from the icy water. But Dean was much worse off, considering he was also cyanotic from temporary oxygen deprivation.

John couldn't care less about his own state while Dean was suffering only a few feet away.

John's mind drifted off as his eyes locked onto his sons, playing out all the horrible outcomes that could have occurred had things gone a bit differently.

He was startled out of his reverie when a heavy blanket was laid across his shoulders.

"Just take it, ya idjit," Bobby grumbled before pulling a chair over and taking up his post next to Dean's bed. "I’ve got first watch. And stop playin' 'Worst Case Scenarios.' There's no need. The boys are right here, and they're both alive. That's all that matters now."

John sighed before softly stating, "I wish that were true, Bobby. But you and I _both_ know it's not."

TBC

Please review!


	10. We’ve Gotta Talk

Bobby glanced at the boys, then back up at the eldest Winchester. "Not here, John. Let’s talk outside."

Dean was fast asleep now that he was safe and sound in his warm bed, but Sam was still wide awake and Bobby didn't want him listening in on their conversation.

Both men stood and made their way to the front door. Bobby stepped out, but John turned back at the threshold.

"Sammy?" he whispered so as not to wake his eldest son. "Watch over Dean. We'll be right back, and if anythin' happens, just give a shout."

"Yes, sir," Sam whispered in return before glancing down to make sure he hadn't disturbed his brother.

Dean's brow had creased and he mumbled something inaudible. Sam rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

"Shh… Go back to sleep, big brother. I'm watchin' over you."

The older boy’s face relaxed at the command and he burrowed further into his pillow before the darkness won out again.

John stepped outside and closed the door with a heavy heart.

This was a discussion he'd prefer to avoid if it were at all possible. Unfortunately, there was no choice, so instead of postponing the inevitable, John jumped right in to get it over with.

"She's still out there, Bobby."

"Yeah, I figured as much. You and Sam didn't exactly have kill shots. She's wounded and pissed off, but I highly doubt she's dead. Dean say what happened down there?"

"Nah, he says he doesn't remember much."

"…You believe 'im?"

"Not particularly, but there's not a lot we can do about it right now. I'll ask him again in the morning when he's had a chance to process."

"Fair enough. Look, John… I hate to say it, but I can't believe she'd just let him go unless she got what she wanted from him."

John brought a weary hand up to massage his eyes, hoping it would help erase the horrible image in his head of what she could have done to Dean while they were under the water. "I really don't want to think about that right now, Bobby."

"Well, I'm sure it's just lollipops and candy canes for _Dean_ to think about! You've gotta face facts, John, whether you like it or not."

The younger man bristled instantly.

"Don't tell me what I have to do, Bobby. Those are _my_ boys sufferin' in there, alright? I know what needs to be done and I'll handle it when I have to, understand?"

"Don't go gettin' all pissy with me. I know exactly how you're feelin' right now cause that's how _I'm_ feelin' too, and you damn well know it!"

John had the decency to look apologetic, though they both knew he'd never actually say he was sorry.

"I just don't get it. Why now, after all these years? And why go after Dean instead of tryin’ to finish me if she wanted revenge?"

"I'd like to know how the hell she tracked you and the boys down again. Can’t be a coincidence that she happened to be out there on that beach while you were all in town. But more importantly, how did she even know you had kids in the first place?"

John looked away, a clear sign he knew more than he was telling. Now wasn’t the time to hold back.

"Damn it, John. You better start spillin' right now before I spill your guts on the ground!"

"I fucked up, alright? I was off my game the night I met her."

"Uh huh… And by 'off your game' you mean _drunk_?"

"It was the five-year anniversary of Mary's death. So yeah, I had a few. The boys were safe in a motel room a few miles away. I could barely see straight, so I took a stroll by the beach to clear my head before goin' back to them. That's when I saw her."

"And you fell for her song."

"…Yeah. Most beautiful voice I've ever heard, aside from Mary's. Anyway, she played the sympathetic shoulder, askin' why I was out alone so late at night, and I let my guard down. I'd never met a creature like her before and had no idea I was already under her spell. Next thing I knew, I told her everything about what I did for a living and about the boys.

"She had me up to my waist in the water before I realized what was goin' on and all I had was my gun, loaded with silver bullets from the previous hunt. I shot her in the chest and thought I killed her cause she didn't resurface.”

“Silver bullets don’t work on Rusalkas, John.”

“I know that _now_ , Bobby! But back then, I thought it was over. I went home to my boys and forgot all about her, till tonight.”

“Well, she clearly didn’t forget about _you_. My guess is all you managed to do that day was piss her off and she’s been waitin’ all these years for a chance to get her revenge.”

"And she nearly got it, too… Christ, Bobby. Dean almost died tonight, and it would've been all my fault. How the hell did she know he was my kid? How did she find us after all these years?"

"I'd have to consult my books to be sure, but if I'm rememberin' correctly, Rusalkas are like bloodhounds. If you get too close, they can get a lock on your scent or aura. Dean's so much like you in every way, maybe she thought she was followin' _you_ and got him instead. Or maybe it was her plan to go after your boys from the jump. Either way, their senses are stronger than I gave them credit for. And if she fed from Dean earlier, she'll hunt him for the rest of his life."

"Unless we hunt her down first and make sure she stays dead this time."

"I hate to say it, but there's one surefire way to get her attention again."

John shook his head in denial. "No. I won't do it, Bobby. I won't use Dean as bait after what he just went through."

"Believe me, I ain't a fan of the idea either. But it beats the poor kid havin' to watch his back till the day he dies, wonderin' when she'll pop up again to finish what she started. We can waste time tryin' to find another option, but we both know there isn't one. She set this whole thing up perfectly. She traumatized Dean so he'd be afraid to go back to the water, but she's banking on your hunter drive to not let her escape this time. She _wants_ you to use Dean, and she's hopin' it'll break the both of you."

"Which is exactly why we need another plan. That bitch is smart, and we'd be waltzing right into her trap, and on her playing field nonetheless. We'd have no advantage."

"We'd have _us_ , and Dean is a lot tougher than she's givin' him credit for. I think we can use her hubris against her, but if you've got somethin' else in mind, I'm all ears."

"Use _me_ as bait instead."

Bobby just shot him a look of disappointment. 

"If she still wanted _you_ , she could've tried to collect at any point over the past eight or so years. It's not your _death_ that she's after, it's your suffering. And even if you _could_ protect Dean for the rest of his life, she'll just go after Sammy instead. You can't keep an eye on both of them every minute of every day, John. We've gotta end this, now."

"...I can't ask him to do that, Bobby. It's just not fair."

"None of this is fair, ya idjit. It's war. She's gonna hide in the depths of that water unless we give her reason to show again."

"Then we'll run. I'll take the boys as far away from every body of water there is. I'll find some sort of protection medallion or spell…"

"You know I wish that would be enough, but Dean's not gonna be able to move on until he knows for a fact she's dead. Her existence will continue to haunt the kid. He's heard her siren song. She can call out to him whenever she damn well pleases. You really want that hangin' over his head for the rest of his life?"

"If that's what it takes to keep him alive."

"I think that's _his_ decision to make, don't you? I would never force him to confront her again if he couldn't handle it, but we've gotta tell him the truth. He needs to know she's still out there so tonight's incident doesn't happen again. If he wants to run and live with the fear, then so be it."

John knew Bobby was right. As long as Sarina was alive, she would continue to taunt and torture them all. They had to put an end to it, sooner rather than later. 

He wanted to punch the door in frustration, but he didn't want to risk waking or scaring his boys who were still huddled inside. He wanted to shout every obscenity he could think of at the deceivingly peaceful looking water. He wanted to dive back into it, freezing temperatures be damned, and wring her pretty little neck with his own two hands. But it took all his willpower to keep his tears from falling.

"I hate this, Bobby."

"So do I, John. But now that we know what we're up against, we ain't gonna let her get the upper hand again. She dies tonight, ya hear?"

John nodded sullenly.

"Good. Now come on. Let's go back inside before you catch pneumonia."

The younger man shot one more loathing look out across the black water before silently following Bobby back into the room. He pulled a second chair from around the kitchen table and brought it over to Dean's side of the bed, right next to Bobby's. He saw that his eldest was still fast asleep and Sam was fighting it but losing the battle.

"It's alright, Sammy," he whispered, leaning down to smooth the boy's bangs away from his eyes. "We'll watch over Dean now. Go to sleep."

Sam nestled his forehead against his brother's neck and fell asleep before John could even sit down. Still hovering over his boys, John rested the back of his hand lightly against his eldest's cheek and was glad to find that his skin was starting to warm up again. He settled into his chair, making sure it was close enough to the bed that he could reach Dean if the boy showed any signs of distress.

"I'll take first watch, John," Bobby offered, sinking into his own chair beside the worried father. "Get some rest. You're gonna need it."

John wanted to argue, but he couldn't deny the fact that he was mentally and physically exhausted. Some sleep would do him good, and hopefully he'd be able to think more clearly in the morning and settle on a proper plan of action.

He glanced at his friend and nodded gratefully, then settled his hand protectively over Dean's upturned wrist, gauging his pulse to make sure it didn't falter during the night. Leaning forward, he pillowed his head on his forearm atop the edge of the mattress and quickly fell into an uneasy sleep, plagued by dreams of Sarina and her twisted games.

Bobby woke John a few hours later to take over the watch, and they continued to switch up until the sun rose the next morning. Both men felt drained by the long night and endless worry, but sleepless nights had always been a part of the job.

"I'll go make some coffee," Bobby offered as he stood and stretched to fix the kinks in his back.

"Thanks, Bobby."

John strode over to the front window and inched the shades over just enough to see the sparkling water down by the shore. On any normal circumstance, the beautiful sight would be welcomed in the early morning and it would offer a sense of peacefulness and tranquility. But now… Now it sent chills down his spine and filled him with pure hatred.

Sam was next to rise, rubbing his tired eyes as he sat up and checked on Dean. John made his way back over to the bed.

"Hey, Sammy. Did you sleep okay?"

"Better than I thought I would. Think Dean's alright now?"

"He stopped shiverin' at about three this mornin' so I'm sure he'll be sore as hell, but he should be on the mend at this point."

Sam nodded, unconsciously biting the inside of his lip. "Are we leavin' today?"

John dropped his eyes to the ground. "Probably not. We've still got some unfinished business to take care of here."

Sam looked confused, but before he could ask more questions, Dean began to stir. The other two Winchesters watched silently, unsure if he was waking up or just shifting in his sleep.

A grimace crossed Dean's face and he stilled, then his eyes cracked open in confusion. John smiled when their eyes met.

"Hey, Dean."

"Dad?" he croaked out, his tired brain trying to process why he felt like he had been hit by a bus.

"How're you feelin', bud?"

"Like I got electrocuted. Twice," he rasped, then winced at the gravely sound of his voice. He attempted to sit up but received a sharp slap to the face as his muscles screamed in protest and he dropped bonelessly back to the mattress with a pained groan.

"Take it easy, dude. You're gonna be sore for a while." John reached out and checked Dean's forehead temperature and pulse for what must have been the twentieth time, then he helped Dean sit up and stacked a bunch of pillows behind him. "Want some coffee? Bobby's brewin' some in the kitchen."

"Hell yeah." At the rate he was going, he'd need a whole pot of it just to get out of bed.

"Comin' right up. Stay put, ya here?" Once Dean nodded in agreement, John moved off towards the kitchen area to tell Bobby to make it three cups instead of two.

Dean let his eyes drift closed again to avoid Sam's calculating gaze.

"You look really pale, man," the younger boy eventually stated, breaking the silence.

Dean resorted to his typical way of dealing with painful and awkward situations. "Yeah, well… For me, it's temporary. At least I don't have Library-atosis like you, geek boy."

Sam smirked and jested back, knowing his brother needed the reprieve. "I'd rather have Library-atosis than testosterone poisoning. I don't think you can ever recover from that."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

John came back into the room carrying two mugs and was closely followed by Bobby who was sipping his own coffee.

"Here ya go, sport. Drink slowly, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

John took up his seat again and watched Dean for a few seconds, judging whether he'd be up for their uncomfortable conversation yet or not.

He sighed. Either way, it had to happen.

"Listen, Dean… We've gotta talk."

TBC


	11. Bait

Dean chose to play dumb, staring into his mug as he swirled the liquid around. “Talk 'bout what?”

"You _know_ what, son."

Damn. The ‘no nonsense’ tone…

Dean stilled, swallowing hard against the bile creeping up the back of his throat. His hands clenched around the mug to stop them from trembling.

The atmosphere of the room quickly shifted from lighthearted to suffocating when all eyes locked onto him. He felt his cheeks burning with shame.

“Dad, I really don’t want-”

"I know, bud. And I wish I could give you all the time in the world so you could come to me when you’re ready, but this can’t wait. We need to know if she's really still out there. And if she is, how much control does she have over you?”

Dean glanced from anxious face to anxious face. He felt claustrophobic, like an animal on display at a zoo. He wasn't ready to deal with reality just yet. He wasn't ready to relive his recent nightmare.

He just wanted them all to go away and give him some time and space to come to terms with everything. But he knew his father was right. He couldn't afford to be selfish now, not if innocent people could be getting hurt because of his silence.

"How much do you remember, Dean?" John pushed gently.

Dean reluctantly considered the question, casting his mind back to the time he spent with Sarina, then jumbled and confusing images began to flood through his mind.

_Hands, lips, cold, water, gunshot, drowning, pain…_

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear the echoes away, starting to feel nauseous and overwhelmed.

“Dean,” John repeated, a bit more forcefully.

"I… I'm not sure what happened, okay? It's all just a scrambled mess. It happened so damned fast. One minute we were standing on the beach together, and the next, we were under the water."

Dean was starting to get worked up, half of him wanting to help his father get the details for the hunt, and half of him wanting to bury the images as deeply as he could and leave them there forever.

His chest was getting tight and he was struggling to breathe.

“John…” Bobby warned, picking up on the boy’s increasing distress.

"Shut up, Bobby. Just take a minute and _think_ , Dean. Try to put the puzzle back together, one piece at a time. Start from the beginning. You went down to the beach to get some air, Sarina showed up and caught your attention… Did she sing to you?"

Dean nodded stiffly, remembering how captivating her voice had been.

John sighed. He knew the hypnotizing effects of Sarina’s song all too well.

“Okay. Then what?”

“She uh… She put her hand over my heart, and there was this… sharp pain. Then I-I couldn’t move…”

_He tried to pull away from her but couldn't get his body to respond. Not a single muscle. He was trapped in place, and his chest was still aching, sure evidence of foul play._

_"What the hell did you do to me?"_

_The woman slid her right hand up underneath his thin t-shirt, smoothing it over his defined abs as she leaned in towards his ear again._

_"I marked you as mine, lover. Mmm… You feel so warm."_

Marked…?

Dean’s eyes slowly widened as Sarina’s words came back to him, then he began yanking at the collar of his sweatshirt, trying to see if there was indeed a visible mark on his skin, claiming him as Sarina’s property.

John reached forward and stilled his frantic movements before he could spill the hot coffee on himself. “Woah, take it easy! Talk to me, kiddo. What’s wrong?”

“She did somethin’ to me! I felt it! She-!”

He stared down at the left side of his chest in confusion.

“There’s nothin’ there, Dean. I would’ve seen it when I checked you over earlier.”

“But I… She marked me, Dad. It burned like hell. I’m not making this up!”

John and Bobby exchanged knowing looks.

“What?” Dean demanded, not sure if he really wanted an answer.

“It’s not permanent, kiddo. It’ll fade in time,” Bobby announced. "Well, so long as you didn't 'seal the deal' with her, anyway..."

Dean gaped at him, his mouth going dry.

“Keep goin’, Dean. What happened next?” John interrupted as he carefully extracted the mug from the boy’s clenched hand, attempting to keep his son on task.

Dean shook his head, unconsciously bringing his freed hands up to massage his temples as they started to throb, wincing as bits of memory continued to sneak past his poorly erected barriers, no matter how much he fought it.

_He shivered as she mouthed at his neck, alternating between sucking and biting at the tender flesh. He grimaced, unable to push her away or stop her wandering hands as they explored his chest and abdomen._

Her hands had been so cold, icy like the water…

_When she pulled back, he caught a glimpse of her true form; an elderly hag with red eyes and jagged teeth._

_"Don't worry, handsome. I can be quite… persuasive when I need to be," she cooed, running her fingers through his soft, spiky hair. Then she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down for a rough kiss._

Dean didn't even notice, but he had started shaking again and it was getting harder to breathe. He was on the verge of a nasty panic attack.

"Dean?"

“That’s enough, John!”

Bobby took a step forward to intervene, but John beat him to it. He placed Dean’s mug on the bedside table, then reached out and took hold of his son's upper arms to try and steady him.

This was going south, fast.

"Hey. Dean, stay with me, son…" He jostled the boy, hoping to pull him from the nightmarish loop he had fallen into. “Can you hear me?”

But all Dean could hear was Sarina’s voice in his ear. All he could feel was her hands on his body, not John’s.

_She kissed his cheek, and slowly worked her way down his neck and out to his shoulder, mouthing at his quickly cooling skin._

_He shuddered against her, causing her to groan deeply._

_She smiled gleefully before walking slowly backwards towards the water, dragging a struggling Dean with her. "Time to go. Say goodbye to Daddy, babe."_

“Dean! Snap out of it!”

_She ran her left hand across his inner thigh, slowly making her way up to her prize, tightly securing her right arm once again around his neck. "You really know how to turn a girl on, don't you, baby?"_

_"Get offa me," Dean growled through chattering teeth as they sank waist deep into the freezing water. He gasped and blushed profusely as she reached her mark with a dark chuckle._

_No! Not in front of my family. Please, not in front of them…_

The slap across his face brought Dean back to the motel room with a sharp thud.

“Dad!” Sam yelled furiously.

“Christ on a cracker, John! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“It worked, didn’t it? Dean, look at me.”

Dean’s watery eyes met his father’s as he brought a shaking hand up to massage his stinging cheek, reminiscent of the similar events from earlier that evening.

“Atta boy. You’re alright now. Just breathe.”

John’s large, calloused hand encompassed Dean’s, cradling the side of his reddened face.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, but I had to snap you out of it. Do you want some ice for that?”

Dean shook his head, reflexively pulling away from his father.

John wilted at the sight. He had hit his son twice within the span of twelve hours. He could hardly blame the boy for wanting to put some distance between them, regardless of whether the slaps had been well-meaning or not.

At least Dean was breathing again. That’s what mattered most.

“John, why don’t you go clean the weapons.” Judging by Bobby’s tone, it wasn’t a request.

“I cleaned them last night,” John groused back in annoyance.

“Well clean them again!”

Bobby gripped his shoulder firmly, proof that he would remove John forcefully from Dean’s presence if it became necessary.

John let out a frustrated sigh, then began to rise from the edge of the bed.

Dean's hand shot out and latched around his father's left wrist with bruising strength as a cold sweat spread over his body. "Dad, she… She got away. She's still alive."

John sank back down onto the mattress with a concerned frown. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. I… I think I remember everythin' now."

Dean trembled, drawing his knees up into his chest, his eyes going vacant.

"It's okay, bud. I'm not gonna let anythin' happen to you again, understand? 'm right here. Just take a deep breath…"

Dean tried to do as he was told, drawing in quick, shaky breaths instead as his heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. It felt remarkably similar to drowning, even though he was on land.

He blinked hard a few times, trying to clear his vision which was quickly clouding. He gasped, scrabbling his fingers against John's arm, trying to get purchase and alert his father to his plight.

"I-I can't... Dad, I can't… breathe..."

"Hey hey hey… Dean, take it easy. Forget about Sarina for a minute, alright? Just try to relax now."

Dean's eyes darkened as the excruciating memory of what it felt like to have his lungs flood with water came back to him, making his chest tighten and ache. Why was it so damned hard to breathe?!

"You're having a panic attack, son. I need you to breathe, buddy."

John placed his hand on Dean's chest, feeling the pounding heartbeat beneath his palm and the sharp gasps of air Dean was trying to pull in.

Sam looked just as panicked as his brother. "Dad? What's happening? What did you do?"

John forced himself to remain calm. "Bobby, can you take Sammy and go get us some brunch?" _We need some time alone here…_

Bobby glanced from Dean to John, wondering if this was really a good idea or not. Sam responded before he could decide.

"What? No! I'm not goin' anywhere! He's not ready to talk! Just leave him alone!"

"Sam, we don't have time for this!" John barked back. "Both of you, just clear out for a bit. It ain't helpin' havin' so many people here hoverin’ over him!"

"Then _you_ go!" Sam challenged back. "Haven't you done enough damage already?"

"Sam…" Bobby warned. Now was not the time for a shouting match or to air out their family drama.

"No, Bobby! Did you forget what happened _last_ time we left them alone together?! Did you not see what Dad just did to him?!"

"I know we've got a lot to work out, Sammy, but now really isn't the time!"

"Let's go, kid," Bobby stated softly. "John's right. There're too many people in here right now and this ain't makin' things any easier on Dean. John, you calm him down before he passes out. And if he's not ready to talk, then you better give him some time or I'll drag you down to the water and drown you myself, understand? Put your boy before the damn hunt for once. Come on, Sam."

Bobby gently pulled Sam from the bed by his upper arm. "Put your shoes on."

"But, Bobby… I can help calm him down!"

"John can handle it just fine. Shoes, _now_. Or you're goin' in socks."

Sam glared but did as he was told, knowing Bobby would stay true to his threat if necessary.

" _Fix_ this, John. We'll be back in about an hour. Call if you need help. And if you even _think_ about hittin' that boy again, so help me..." Bobby marched Sam out the door with a heavy hand clamped to the boy's shoulder.

Once the door shut behind them, John was finally able to turn his full attention back to his eldest.

Dean didn't seem to register _any_ of what had just happened. His hand was still clamped to John's forearm and his eyes were locked straight ahead, wide with fear. He was panting heavily as though he had run twenty miles.

There was a time when tough love was necessary, but this was not it.

John slid closer, pulling Dean into his chest and cradling the back of his head like he did when Dean was a baby. He rocked him gently while rubbing his other hand up and down the boy's back soothingly.

"It's okay, Dean. It's okay… I’ve got you."

After a minute or two, he felt Dean's left arm slowly move up to return the embrace. The boy grabbed a fistful of John's shirt and held on for dear life. And if the frequent hitches of his shoulders and the soft sniffles were anything to go by, Dean had started crying.

"Ah, hell, bud… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to push you so hard. I know this ain't an easy topic, especially since it only just happened last night. But if she’s still out there, she’s still a threat. To you, and to others. I need to know what we're up against so that next time our paths cross, we can finally put an end to it all."

Dean stiffened in his father's arms, then calmed, collecting himself and preparing to soldier on like he knew John would want him to. He released his father's shirt and pulled back far enough to wipe his face dry with the backs of his hands.

"I know. Sorry. Just ask your questions." His voice was passive, sounding dejected.

John felt like the biggest asshole on the planet, but he really didn't have a choice in the matter. Sarina had marked Dean, and he wouldn’t be truly safe till they ganked her, the only way to effectively sever the bond.

Dean didn't need to know that though. He had enough on his mind already.

"Alright. After I took my shot and she pulled you under the water, what happened?"

John was careful to watch Dean's eyes this time, looking for any signs that the boy might start panicking again.

"Uh… I think I went into shock. The water… It was so damn cold, I couldn't fight her off. Couldn't get back to the surface. She just kept pulling me in deeper and deeper until I couldn't tell which way was up anymore. It was just pitch black in all directions."

John began rubbing up and down Dean's arm, both for comfort and to help stem the shivers coursing along the boy's spine, covering his body in goosebumps.

"How'd you get away, Dean?"

Dean took a deeper breath and stared down into his lap, avoiding his father’s gaze. "I don't know. Last thing I remember was her undoing my jeans and… and trying to feed off me."

John took his own steadying breath, not sure he wanted to continue either. But there was no stopping now. He needed to know. "Did she succeed?"

"…I don’t think so."

"But you’re not sure?"

Dean curled further into himself.

"She tried, repeatedly, to get me to... you know, _react_. I fought her off the best I could, but honestly, I think the freezing water may have worked in our favor this time. Talented hand job or not, there was just no way I was gonna get it up when my blood was turnin’ to ice in my veins."

John let out a sigh of relief, bordering on a chuckle.

“Thank god for small favors, huh?”

“I’ll say…”

“So then what? She just let you go out of the goodness of her frozen heart?”

_"Stop squirming, Dean. Just relax…" she cooed in his ear before nipping at the lobe._

_He felt her ice-cold hand stroking his toned abdomen lovingly as his shirt was floating freely halfway up his chest. She giggled in delight._

“I'm not sure. I blacked out from the lack of air.”

That wasn’t entirely true. While he had lost his vision rather quickly, he hadn’t lost consciousness right away.

He had felt her moving down his body as he remained suspended in animation, and then a surprising heat had enveloped him, complete with the perfect amount of suction.

The contrast in temperatures brought him to the edge faster than he had ever thought possible. The sensations were so overwhelming that he reflexively drew in a breath of water, felt his lungs spasm and object to the infiltration, and _then_ he finally passed out.

Whether or not she got what she wanted first was anyone’s guess. But Dean wasn’t about to admit that to his father. They’d find Sarina again, kill her, and then none of the rest of it would matter anymore.

"Maybe she thought I was dead and just swam off."

John squeezed his son's shoulder in gratitude. "Thank you, Dean. You did good, buddy."

Dean forced a small smile at his father's words, unconsciously pulling the sheets up higher on his body. It was just habit now. He hated feeling exposed.

"So what happens now?" he asked John, leery of the answer.

"Now? We kill the bitch."

"How?"

"Don't you worry about it. Bobby and I'll come up with a plan."

John didn't have the heart to tell his boy that they already had one.

"You need me for bait, don't you." It wasn't a question.

John sighed. "Dean, I can't ask you to…"

"I'll do it."

John stuttered to a halt. "Wh-what?"

"I'm not gonna let her get away, Dad. Next time, she could go after Sammy. This ends now, with me. Whatever it takes."

TBC

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	12. Promise Me

"She's still out there, isn’t she?" Sam questioned Bobby once he couldn't take the silence in the truck any longer.

He dropped the second half of his blueberry muffin back into the takeout bag, too anxious to be hungry anymore.

Bobby gave him a sideways look before his eyes returned to the road ahead.

"'fraid so."

“Do you think she’ll come after Dean again?”

“I’d bet money on it.”

“Then we need to leave town, as soon as we get back.”

Bobby tightened his grip on the steering wheel slightly.

"I wish it were that simple, kid. I really do."

"Well, we can’t stay _here_. It’s too dangerous."

“Doesn’t matter where we go, Sam. All water is connected. There’s no runnin’ from this one. We’ve gotta end it, here and now.”

Sam thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay, fine. Then we will. But Dean should go stay with Pastor Jim. He’ll keep him safe till it’s over.”

Bobby sighed. He had hoped Sam would hold off on the questions till they arrived back at the motel so John could field them, but he should’ve known better. The boy was insatiably curious.

“…Dean can’t leave, kiddo.”

"Why not? You said it yourself. She’s going to come after him again."

"Look, Sam… No one wants to keep Dean safe more than me and your daddy. But our hands are kinda tied on this one. We're gonna need his help."

Sam went from frustrated to furious the second Bobby’s words sank in.

"You mean you need him for _bait_. How could you even _think_ of askin' him to do that after what he's gone through?!"

"We don't have a choice, son. She ain't gonna resurface unless she senses Dean on the shore. She already bound herself to him, so she won’t be interested in anyone else. Believe me, I’d take his place if I could.”

“What if he can’t break free of her control again? What if she tries to drown him a second time? What if-?”

“It’s not gonna come to that, okay? We won't be far, and as soon as we've got a clear shot, we're takin' it. With any luck, she’ll be dead before she gets anywhere near him."

Sam sank down in his seat and turned his gaze out the passenger side window. Basically, he was sulking.

"Not good enough. I won't let him do it. There's gotta be a better way."

"If there is, we need to find it before tonight. Otherwise, we go with plan ‘A’. Finish your breakfast, Sam. We'll need everyone at the top of their game for this one."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

Back at the motel, Dean was pacing the room restlessly, listening to his father’s plan of attack while his anxiety about the whole thing was building by the minute.

"Okay, let me get this straight… You want me to try and seduce a _seductress_? I mean, I'm good and all, Dad, but I don't know if I'm _that_ good," he stated incredulously after John finished filling him in.

"Not so much _seduce_ as let yourself be put under her spell again. She’ll be distracted while she’s singing, especially now that she knows you can break through her enchantment if she loses focus. That’ll give us time to move in.”

"And how long will that take?"

"No longer than it has to, I promise you that."

Dean nodded, then dropped his gaze, scuffing his foot against the old floorboards in thought as he clenched his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

"It’s gonna be alright, kiddo," John assured softly from the edge of the mattress where he was perched, watching his son fidget a few yards away.

Dean glanced back up at his father, his eyes empty and somber. "I know," he stated, but the words lacked the usual conviction now that his trust in the man had been shaken.

John sighed. Words could never fix the damage he had done to their bond. He’d have to prove himself through actions to win back the boy’s trust, assuming Dean was even willing to give him a second chance.

"Bobby and Sam should be back any minute now. Why don't you let me change out your bandages, and then you can go get dressed. Breakfast will be here when you're done."

"Yes, sir."

Dean made his way over to his duffle and knelt down stiffly to rifle through it for clean clothes. John watched him for a moment, then got up to gather his first aid supplies.

"Can you get the sweatshirt off, or do you need some help?"

"Nah, I got it."

“Alright. Grab your stuff, then come sit down.”

Dean set his fresh clothes on the end of the bed, then eased himself down gingerly into the spot his father had just vacated.

He gripped the hem of his sweatshirt and raised it over his head, then clenched his jaw and let out a small hiss of pain as his muscles protested the movement. But nevertheless, he managed to get it off without any assistance.

His hand went to his injured side as soon as it was exposed, easing the sharp pull of the stitches that were holding his wound together.

“Doin’ okay?” John asked as he hovered over Dean.

“Yeah. Just sore.”

“I bet. Let’s take a look.”

John reached for the bandage covering his son’s bullet wound first. Dean leaned back a bit, propping himself up with his hands on the mattress behind him to give his father better access and light.

Peeling the bloodied bandage off the stitches was far from a pleasant experience, but they were both relieved to find that the wound wasn’t showing any signs of infection yet.

John cleaned the area gently but still elicited a few pained grunts from Dean as he worked. When he was finished, he taped a clean gauze pad over it.

“Done. Want me to-?”

He motioned broadly towards Dean’s hip, knowing he had a bandage over the fingernail cuts as well, but Dean quickly shook his head.

“No. I’ll take care of it when I change.”

“Alright. Better get going then.”

John handed him the supplies, as well as the clothes that were on the bed. Dean stood and made his way to the bathroom for some much-needed privacy.

“Give a shout if you need anythin',” John called after him, then Dean closed the door.

Unable to take a shower while the stitches were still fresh, he settled for washing up in the sink, making sure to scrub away any remaining blood that was caked on his skin from his injuries last night.

Feeling a bit more like himself when he was done, he glanced up tentatively into the mirror over the sink.

He looked exhausted, drawn, and pale, but otherwise, nothing had changed. He leaned closer to inspect his upper left chest, rubbing the unblemished skin with his fingertips.

He couldn’t explain it, but there was a constant ache in his heart, as if he had recently lost someone dear to him. But as John had stated last night, there were no outward signs that anything was wrong. No scratches, no bruises, no marks.

Still… He could feel her connection to him as if it were a tangible hook through his chest. 

She wanted to own him; mind, body, and soul. And if their plan tonight didn’t succeed, she just might get her wish.

Dean shivered at the thought, then pulled back from the mirror. One step at a time.

His first priority was putting on as many layers as he could tolerate. If Sarina wanted a second shot at him, he’d damn well make her work for it.

He carefully tugged on a t-shirt, followed by a plaid button-up, and finally, the same sweatshirt he had been wearing earlier.

When he slid his boxers off, he caught sight of the other gauze bandage and hesitated. The cuts on his inner hip were throbbing mercilessly.

He grimaced as he carefully peeled the bandage off, then had to swallow a few times to keep the bile from coming up his throat as he inspected the wound.

The skin around the small puncture marks was bruised and swollen, similar to hickeys he had gotten in the past from overly possessive girlfriends who didn’t get the concept of ‘just passing through’. 

The more he considered it, the more the idea seemed nauseatingly plausible. She _had_ been mouthing along the area around the time he had passed out…

If her saliva had gotten into the wound, that would explain why the holy water had burned on those marks but not the ones on his shoulder.

Just when he thought he couldn’t possibly feel more violated.

He knew he should probably wash the cuts out with holy water again, but he didn’t have any with him and he wasn’t about to go back into the main room and ask his dad for some, so he settled for the hydrogen peroxide.

It burned worse than the night before- which probably wasn’t a good sign- so he gripped the edges of the sink and hissed through his teeth until the pain abated to a more tolerable level.

A knock on the door startled him and he nearly knocked the rubbing alcohol off the countertop as he whirled around, his heart pounding in his throat.

_“Food’s here, Dean. Finish up in there, then come get some grub.”_

Dean took a few measured breaths before responding with, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

_“Alright.”_

He hadn’t felt like eating earlier and hoped his appetite would return before the food did, but no such luck. The thought of eating made him queasy. 

And yet, the adrenaline spike had made him shaky and lightheaded, informing him that his body needed the food even if his stomach wasn’t interested.

He fastened his jeans with a wince and cleaned up the rest of the supplies, then with a heavy sigh, he prepared himself the best he could before stepping out of the bathroom to greet the others.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, he had his arms full of Sammy.

“Dean! You’re okay!”

The older boy grunted at the unexpected impact, but instinctually returned the embrace, putting his baby brother’s comfort before his own.

“’m fine, Sammy,” he assured softly. “Sorry I scared you earlier.”

“’s okay. But Dean… Promise me you’re not gonna use yourself as bait to draw her out again.”

John turned to Bobby, annoyed.

"You _told_ him?!" he asked accusingly.

"I didn’t! The kid guessed! Not like it was an impossible conclusion to come by, John."

“Dean, please…” Sam begged, giving his brother those doe eyes that he could never resist. “Promise me you won’t let them do it.”

“…I can’t promise that, Sammy. We don’t have any other choice.”

“There has to be one! We just need some more time to find it!”

“That’s enough, Sam,” John commanded. “Sarina was injured last night, and that will work to our advantage. The longer we wait, the stronger she’ll get. We need to act tonight. Don't make this any harder than it has to be, kiddo.”

“She won’t resurface till it’s dark out,” Bobby added. “That gives us the day to cover all our bases and make sure we have a foolproof plan before-”

“Before you serve Dean up on a platter?” Sam huffed petulantly.

“Sam, if you can’t get on board and make yourself useful, then you’re going to stay in this room till it’s over.”

John’s youngest was positively fuming at him, but at least he finally stopped arguing.

“Fine. I’ll help. But if anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive you.”

John nodded. “Understood.”

If anything happened to Dean, John would never forgive _himself_ …

TBC

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